New Jerusalem
by TheLookin'Glass
Summary: New Jerusalem: A short-lasting paradise. Betrayal, murder and lies abruptly fill the lengthened distance between them as they struggle to survive and stay together. Can she overcome her mutation or will the animal within force her to abandon her brothers to their ultimate demise? (Mary Sue-free!)
1. Chapter 1

**You: Is this another Wolverine's Sister story?**

**Me: Yes, yes it is.**

A few minutes before the crazed gunman knocked down their doors, the manor house was calm enough that one would expect residents to be under the covers.

Judith's caretaker, Nettie, held up a dress with a petticoat the color of the savory cabbage in the gardens. Judy's nose immediately wrinkled as the clothing's scent of waste and urine wafted in to her face. The particular odor that became the prominent fuel of her distaste of gowns. Nettie, accustomed to her reaction, helped her squirm into it.

Elizabeth flipped her daughter's cowlicked hair over her shoulders as she studied the flaws of the garment. Judy knew she would have no problem with a solemn expression tomorrow, for the rough laces on the rectangular neckline itched and the wide hem would give her little mobility. She found it challenging to muster a genuine smile now, in such an uncomfortable position. The new ladies' fashions were growing more and more extravagant every year.

"Will James be in the portrait tomorrow?" Judy's twin brother was bedridden with fever, again, and she knew how fickle Elizabeth could be with their yearly family portrait.

Nettie nodded. "He should pull through the night."

Judy's eyes widened in panic, for that was not what she was implying. Judy was questioning the wan of her brother's skin, the recurrent cough that could interfere with the painting; not if he wouldn't survive. Jimmy must've been worse than she thought. She wanted to run to his chambers now, but what could she do that would make any difference? Jimmy already had the best healers in the land, and maybe even their reluctant playmate Victor to entertain him, albeit Victor would insist it Jimmy entertaining him.

So Judy kept her glum thoughts inward, and obliged to her mother's dismissive attitude towards the dress as she ordered another.

Once the laces were untied and the gown was off, Elizabeth followed Nettie into the loo down the halls of the manor, wondering if it was too late in the night to call in a tailor. Judy lay on her inherited four poster, twisting the bedclothes around her arms and legs.

A loud banging thudded from behind her doors, and she sat up automatically, wincing at the volume. Their groundskeeper's, Thomas Logan, voice rang clear through her head, despite the space and doors between them. "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" it shouted.

Judy had been to many formals, some of which had been hosted by her father in this manor house, and while meeting the suitors her father approved of financially, had deciphered the difference between drunken slurs of men and their sober tones. Thomas Logan's words were intoxicated, yet his tonality wasn't. Intrigued by what Victor's cruel father wanted with his mistress—it must have been an emergency—she decided she would be there when one of the servants opened the entrance doors—out of range of course. If he was, in fact, partway drunk.

Acknowledging the taboo of leaving her chambers in merely a corset, Judy quickly pulled her refreshingly comfortable night gown over her head before stumbling down the grand staircase.

At the base of the case, she found her mother. Elizabeth seemed calmer than Judy, and gestured for her daughter to stay put. She stopped at the seventh stair down.

At their mistress's nod, Anne and Caroline unlocked and pulled open the heavy wooden double doors, only to be knocked on their rears when the groundskeeper effortlessly shoved them apart. His eyes immediately locked on Elizabeth.

"They've had thirteen years," Thomas growled. "It's time."

Thomas, his stance stiff and one fist flexing and curling as if he couldn't decide what to do with them, frightened Judy and she felt vulnerable out in the open while the maids and keepers scattered. He also had a gun.

"Please," Elizabeth begged, "Later. Not now. Come back when you're sober."

"I am sober!" he snarled. He tried to pass.

Elizabeth stepped in his path. "I won't allow it."

Judy cried out when Thomas snatched her mother's elbow, and his eyes flicked to her, as if he hadn't noticed her there before. Judy immediately wished she stayed silent.

"Get off me!" Elizabeth tugged her arm in futile attempt.

"Let her go right now!" Like a true knight in shining armor Judy longed to have one day, her father glided down; one hand resting on the banister while the other bore its palm towards Thomas. "And put down the gun."

Thomas lowered the firearm, but didn't release his hold on it, or Judy's mother.

Victor crept down the stairs, following John's footsteps. Gaining some confidence by Victor's valor, Judy forced her paralyzed legs to move and followed close behind.

"There are things you don't know about your _wife_ and me." began Thomas, spitting out 'wife' bitterly.

"I know everything I need to." John shook his head slowly, but flickers of uncertainty crossed his features.

"Thom, no." Pleaded Elizabeth, no longer struggling against his hold.

"Let her go," John repeated. "And get off my property."

Judy realized what this meant. If Thomas was to leave, then surely he would take his son along with him. And then Judy would lose a friend.

"They must know what's going to happening to them!" Ignoring John, Thomas turned to Elizabeth, who shook her head, "I won't let you." she said.

"And never come back here!" John took steps toward the two, unable to refrain his anger any longer and was shouting.

Growling, Thomas turned his head and narrowed. "You can't—"

"I told you to never come back here!" roared John.

Thomas started, his grip tightening on the gun, pulling the trigger. The bang that sounded nearly caused Judy to jump out of her skin, her head ringing long afterward. Her father was thrown back and onto the ground as the bullet met his flesh, muscle, lung. Thick black-maroon blood stained his frilly shirt, the sight sickening Judy so.

Someone is screaming, she thought vaguely, as if it wasn't her father and she was watching from afar.

Jimmy suddenly appeared on all fours by John's side. John gripped his robes. "James," he stuttered. His head rolled to its other side as he gazed at his mentally detached daughter. "J—"

And he was gone. Judy could smell it in the air; the coppery blood, the pungent scent of grief and regret, hear her father's last breath spent on her name. It was so horrible she wanted to escape. She backed away, only stopping when she nearly tripped and realized her feet were moving on their own. Father couldn't be gone, she insisted. No, someone who stood so confident and strong can't die that quickly, at the hands he entrusted with the care of his property.

The screaming began again, except this time it was her brother, screaming in mental and physical pain as the death of his hero enclosed around him and long, sharp bone slid out between his knuckles.

And then Jimmy was running and Thomas was lifting the gun and Elizabeth was on the ground because the groundskeeper had pushed her there and Judy realized that Jimmy was going to die like her father when Thomas pulled the trigger and Jimmy would die the same way too.

Judy launched herself from the sidelines and knocked the gun from Thomas's hand just as he was firing, so the bullet went in another direction; through the wall.

She fell to the ground, knocking her elbow hard on the marble floors.

Jimmy's claws sunk into Thomas's chest so deep, his knuckles pressed into the man's stomach and the victim fell against the wall.

Thomas didn't scream or show any signs of pain or anything. "James. J-Judith." Judy tore her eyes from his wound and looked at his face; the bulging eyes and sweaty nose. "He wasn't your father."

Jimmy stared in horror at his claws, at his mother, then back to Thomas. Thomas's eyes turned glassy and his eyelids only dropped halfway before the life went out of his body and the scent of death intensified. Jimmy backed away, dropping Thomas as he did, realizing what this meant.

Judy couldn't look away from the corpse that was her biological father until she heard the words that put the weight of betrayal on her chest, although the words weren't directed to her:

"What are you?"

Hurt by his mother's words, rather than run to Elizabeth or to his room, Jimmy tore out the open doors, Victor following.

Lifting herself onto her shaky legs, Judy turned to hide back in her chambers, to wait it out and comfort Jimmy when he and Victor came back. If they came back. This thought alone made her stop in her tracks. If her brother—_brothers—_were to run away forever, Judy would inherit the farm and manor. No, her _husband _would inherit it. And without her lenient father it was likely Elizabeth would pick for her. And if she knew her mother correctly, Elizabeth would force her to marry some suck-up lawyer. And then she would be forced to bare children—something she couldn't fathom—and care for her aging widowed mother.

Elizabeth not only betrayed John, but her brother as well. And if Jimmy and Victor weren't coming back to the manor to avoid the complications of murder, if she went with them, she could live her entire life free in… anywhere_ but _here. Of course, there were details to think over; how they would earn a living, clothes, a place to stay, but she knew Jimmy was an eager-to-please boy who would never force her into something she didn't want and Victor didn't focus on anything but the present and survival.

Clearly, though, staying at the manor would be the easier path; to be taken care of and in return, loyalty and children.

James or Elizabeth? Jimmy or Mother? She would lose someone either way. Looking at her mother now though, she could see herself turning into Elizabeth—hateful of change, fearful of love, obedient to her sons and husband—should she choose to stay. To leave, an adventure. If she left she wouldn't have to fret about the future.

Before her conscious could convince her to stay, Judy turned on the balls of her bare feet and ran out into the cold autumn night, relishing the brief moment of freedom before sorrow and perhaps regret could trap her in its chilling clutches.

Judy wished she could run faster. She hadn't seen her brothers, but she could sense them, and she had their scent. She knew she was heading in the right direction, but just not fast enough. If she wasn't there soon, they would be gone and she would be alone, and miss her chance to be with them.

It wasn't her musings that set her off, but the barking dogs and extra footsteps behind her. Behind her, there was the baying of hound dogs on her trail, and Judy didn't have time to wonder how they found her so fast. Because the burning of her lungs and nose as well as the aching of her feet and toes suddenly lifted as the panic and adrenaline set in. She ran fast, exactly how she wanted, until she was practically flying, her toes just brushing the ground as the thumps of the footsteps behind her faded away.

She wasn't sure how to stop, or if she wanted to, but when her eyes and head lifted from their gaze on her feet, a tree root, or stone, stubbed her toe painfully and she knocked into something rough and soft. However, the force she brought was transferred to Victor who fell onto Jimmy, creating a dogpile with Judy on top.

Poor Jimmy with a couple hundred pounds on his chest groaned in annoyance. Judy quickly scrambled off the two, running a hand through her hair and pulling out dead leaves as Victor yanked Jimmy to his feet.

"Don't you realize, Judy?"

Pleased when Victor didn't immediately order her to run back to the manor, she met the hard blue eyes identical to her own as her newfound brother spoke.

Victor put his left hand on Jimmy's shoulder, his right on Judy's. "We're brothers—"

"Sister." Judy's voice was hoarse after taking her breaths through her throat.

"And siblings protect each other." His grip on their shoulders tightened with every statement. "We have to be hard. Hard enough so that nothing can ever touch us."

Albeit Judy couldn't imagine being as cold as Victor had the potential to be, but she favored the idea of never feeling the pain of loss and betrayal again.

"I want to go home." Jimmy's voice shook.

"We can't!" Victor let out a breath. "We stick together no matter what."

_Stick together no matter what. _It was a relief that Judy wouldn't have to worry about losing her siblings.

"And take care of anyone who gets in our way. Can you do that, Brother?" Jimmy nodded.

"Sister?"

Judy nodded as well.

Victor glanced over his shoulder, and Judy followed his line of sight. The glow of hunters' lanterns appeared from behind the trees, illuminating a man's articles of clothing; a hat, a heavy overcoat, a sweater. Judy could do with something warm. She wouldn't complain, though. If she wanted to be hard, then she had to start by ignoring the pinch of the nighttime breeze.

"They're coming." Victor observed, his tone cautiously lower. "Think you can keep up?"

Judy's eyes narrowed slightly, not fond of how belittled her gender and found herself determined to prove that she could run. Fast.

Victor seemed pleased at her resolution, and straightened.

They tuned to the opposite direction of their pursuers, careering away from everything that was familiar.

"Keep on running."

"Don't look back."


	2. Homing Pigeon

It was autumn season and therefore the nights longer. They'd run until they couldn't and then run some more until they came across a grazing field. Knowing that this meant livestock, livestock meant farms and farms meant barns, they jumped the picket fence and crossed the field, feeling vulnerable without any trees to climb or hide behind.

The old barn looked well-cared for, through put to great use. They decided to spend the rest of the night in the horse stables, behind the stacks of stored hay in the back. The latched doors opened with much coaxing, but it was much warmer and comfortable indoors, with the warm bodies of the giant animals.

"What if the farmer arrives before we wake?" asked Judy to Victor in a hushed whisper, offering the stallion closest to Victor an apologetic look as his nostrils flared and his eyes rolled nervously.

"He won't." Victor brushed her off flippantly. He didn't seem tired at all and acted as if the only reason they were stopping was for Jimmy and Judy's benefit. Judy didn't feel at all somnolent, but Jimmy was asleep on his feet. "If he does," Victor added. "We'd know."

If the farmer opened the stable doors in the later morning, light would—should—wake them. If not it wasn't very likely he'd look up the loft and behind the hay bales. At least, that's what Judy thought. She wasn't very familiar with what the stable boys did in the mornings. She just rode the ponies in the evenings; groomed them afterward on the occasion.

But Victor carried more years on his shoulders and therefore was very wise, so she brushed away her doubts and scaled the ladder before her brothers. The rungs were wooden and pinched her palms with splinters. The moonlight through the skylight gave her just enough luminescence that when she splayed her fingers she could see each individual sliver of wood ejected out of her skin and the wound it created close almost instantaneously. She wondered how she never noticed this art before.

Brushing her hands together, she watched as Victor headed straight to the corner of the hayloft and lay and curled up, clearly indicating that he didn't want company. Jimmy sluggishly brushed the strands of straw off his space before conking out. Judy put her body down on the hard surface and rolled onto her back. She closed her eyes, to no avail. She was too alert to sleep, and the ground beneath her skull was hard.

She focused on her breathing until her ears stopped ringing. Then on her heartbeat. When she could hear it clear as day, she concentrated her ears on her brothers' light even breaths.

Her eyes still refused to stay shut for long. And with this much time on her hands, her brain traveled off on its own accord.

Judy wondered what her mother was doing. If she was missing and worrying for her children, if she was regretting ever investing in so much for her daughter, or if she was horrified to have ever conceived to the monster Jimmy was.

And when Judy thought of home, her insides dropped until her throat tightened like it always did before she cried. She imagined herself reading a book on her desk or bed and the image was so real until she opened her eyes to find herself in the surrounded by dried grass, heavy with disappointment. She wished for her father to make her tears disappear, or even her mother to scold her for crying in public. She yearned for her four-poster that smelt of her father after he tucked her in, listening to the purrs of her tabby cat she would sneak in bed to sleep with. The more she thought of these things, the more she longed for them, the more she compared her previous life to her present and the more she resented the ground she was attempting to sleep on.

_Just get through this, _she thought. _It'll get easier. Don't think negative. _It was hours, or minutes or seconds or all three before she realized she was just letting time pass and waiting for something. Then, she figured out what it was. Her subconsciousness was expecting to return home again, but she knew she wouldn't, not for a very long time at least.

It wasn't till the ends of the sky grew pink that her eyes finally grew heavy...

But seconds later, a startled yelp and a thud caused her to sit up before her lids were open. Her heart thudded against her sternum, chasing away the sluggishness.

Victor was by her side in an instant, peeking over the edge of the ledge. A girl in linen rags and the sun-beaten completion of one who spends much time working outdoors was at the fallen ladder rubbing her backside that took the brunt of the fall.

Judy turned and frantically shook her twin awake. "Wake up, Jimmy!" she hissed.

Too much time later, Jimmy finally pried open his eyes, and Judy forced him to sit up by the shoulders. Jimmy complained about the crick in his neck, with a stifled yawn, as if the events of the previous day hadn't occurred to him yet.

"There's someone down there!" Judy explained. She dragged a now wide-eyed Jimmy toward the ladder by the hand.

"What do we do?" he asked Victor.

Judy leaned over to take a glance below; searching for their way back to the stable floors before realizing the ladder was still lying on the floor out of reach. And the girl was gone. "Where'd she go?"

"Probably to her parents," grunted Victor ruefully.

Jimmy eyed the solid ground below, blenching. He never was fond of climbing trees like Judy, she recalled. "What will happen if we jump down?"

Victor rolled his eyes. "You'll break your legs." Outwardly, her brother was calm, but his shoulders were slightly hunched and his jaw was tight. "We'll have to wait. What's the worse they would do?"

_They could turn us in; Jimmy could be hanged for murder. _Judy couldn't fathom Jimmy _not _being a part of her life. It just wasn't possible, and was why Judy wasn't as worried about it as she was about whomever the girl went to fetch.

She smelt the man before heard the footsteps approach; the stale sweat, the animalistic musk of livestock and undertone sourness of anxiety. The footsteps were heavy; a light man wearing boots or an older, heavier man. "I know you're here!" his voice was deep, confident. "Show yourself."

She knew that the safer path was to surrender, do as the man (who was likely to be carrying some form of weaponry) says and run away when it was possible. And if opposed, fight their way through. Victor had fingernails that he once told her were especially challenging to cut, sometimes even lengthened at will and were exceptionally sharp; Jimmy had claws that could impale if worse came to worse; and Judy... well, the one more desperate always won the battle, no matter the size or the odds.

She wasn't sure where this thought came from, but she knew with all her being that it was true.

But another part of her, the one who she never noticed resting just below her subconsciousness awoken as she ran away from home the previous night urged her to do just as the man said; but instead of surrendering, attacking and claiming this territory as hers. No, this instinct wasn't as confident on maiming or killing as it wanted to snap and growl its dominance, prove the man he couldn't tell her what to do and expect him to oblige.

No, if she did the latter, it wouldn't end in a way she would like. Stifling it took effort, but was manageable, like smothering the urge to yawn; she held herself still until the urge lessened and when it did, promised herself that she'd keep it under control.

"We would if we could, but we can't." Victor retorted with a sneer that the man couldn't see.

When the man walked in their line of sight, the sour scent of nervousness diminished considerably. In one hand connected to the rolled sleeve of a grey-white tunic held a gun, lowered when he realized the threat was just a trio of grubby children. Turning around, he called to the entrance of the structure, "Gertrude!"

Quick-paced footsteps scrambled over to the man, revealing an aged woman, her expression softening when her eyes set on the children. She smelt of pastries and soil, and already had beads of sweat on her hairline and nose, despite it being an early morning.

Gertrude shook her head at the man, an amused smile at her lips. "It seems as if Mabel was crying wolf again." she studied Judy and her brothers and they eyed her back. "I'd expect you haven't yet eaten breakfast." Without waiting for an answer, Gertrude hefted the ladder back up right, the man rushing over to assist her. "You can have last dinner's beef stew."

And the idea of steak suddenly sounded very, _very _enticing. Judy felt her stomach roar and ache with the mere thought.

But Victor balked suspiciously. "They could be trying trick us." he told them, in a voice low enough that the adults would hear. Said adults were waiting patiently.

"But they have beef stew!" Victor rolled his eyes at his naïve sister, so she added, "How else are we going to find breakfast?"

Victor frowned. "We could catch it."

"You mean hunt? In the woods?"

Actually, Victor was thinking about stealing the farmer's chickens, but they could if they had to.

Lucky for Judy, Jimmy was hungry for steak as well. "What would they want with us, anyway? We don't have any money."

Victor was still hesitant. Judy thought he should be more trusting; he was so wary of everything all the time. "They could send us back home." he said.

"Then we won't tell them." insisted Judy, knowing they traveled at least a league or so, and that was far enough that the news of Thomas's murder by his child and their disappearance wouldn't reach this particular location for at least a couple days, right? "We'll just say that we ran away because..." she paused, not sure what they would say.

Victor grimaced, he was hungry, and he knew they wouldn't be able to escape if they tried; the man had a gun. Besides, if they had to hunt or steal livestock, it would take some time. And he wasn't all that fond of disappointing or letting those he was responsible for going unfed. "Okay," reluctant, "But we'll leave as soon as we're able to." And continue running, and never come back until they are absolutely sure they are no longer wanted.

Victor descended the ladder first, followed by Judy, then Jimmy.

"You can call me Gertrude," the woman said kindly, gently, as if she knew they would run away at the hint of a threat. "This is my husband, Samuel." she shook each of their hands, and had the courtesy not to rub it on her apron, as their hands weren't the cleanest.

There was silence, as if they were expecting them to say something. Victor caught the hint. "I'm—_William_." he said, thinking quickly. He gestured to Judy. "That's Mary, and—"

"I'm Logan." blurted Jimmy.

Gertrude nodded, oblivious, and indicated them follow her out of the horse stables. Judy took a deep breath once they were out, relieved at the fresh scent of wheat and soil rather than the pungent odor of horse.

Samuel muttered something about milking the cows, and went off in another direction as Gertrude led them across the crop field. Judy watched with mild interest as the workers bent low to the ground to harvest peas, wondering if they had to pick crops during the afternoon, and how sweltering it must be. She was also grateful that she was high enough in social rank not to have such a job, though she wasn't sure if she would need to farm later in life, to earn food and money.

"Why Logan?" Judy asked Jimmy quietly, curious.

"I k-killed him." Jimmy mumbled back. "It would be respectful to honor his name, somehow."

Judy never liked the groundskeeper, and disliked him further when he betrayed John. She didn't really want to remember him, but respect for the dead was always important. What was more, Judy mentally scolded herself for being so selfish; she'd never once considered Jimmy's feelings on all this; he killed his own father, his flesh and blood. It must have been a tremendous weight on his chest, and all Judy could think about was the tiny one betrayal on hers.

Jimmy was probably ashamed for his actions, and he had claws in his hands. He must've felt like a freak, a monster, an inferior. But he wasn't. He was Judy's brother.

Judy took his hand.

And if he decided he was, then she would be one too.

**If you find an incorrect detail about life in the eighteenth century, please feel free to give me the true ones. I did my research, but slip-ups are always possible. And if this story is getting predictable, mention that as well. **


	3. Social Animals

Judy never liked her vegetables. When her courses started, she started to loathe them. Their bitterness was amplified to her weak taste buds until she found trouble swallowing. She wasn't fond of sweet things either, except when she was ravenous. She liked salty foods; things she could sink her teeth into until all the juice gushed out in many different flavors. She liked hard things that she could crush with her jaws and feel the pride of dominance when the object gave way and shattered or snapped in halves.

The stew consisted of spicy auburn broth, little chunks of beef, carrots and cabbage and other greens she didn't pay attention to. It probably would have been easier to eat her vegetables first, as she was hungry enough to eat anything, but she didn't. Much to her dismay, the majority of the stew was vegetation.

Gertrude tsked. "Do you not know to eat as a lady?"

Judy realized the delicate habits her mother had drilled into her had failed to materialize this meal, and she was consuming her breakfast as if she were imitating her brothers, or her father's hounds.

"Excuse me." she mumbled, picking up her fork. It took thrice the amount of time to get the stuff into her mouth using a utensil, but she was under Samuel's roof, and she had to follow the mistress of the house's rules.

When they were finished—Gertrude had commented on Victor's nails (offered to help 'fix' them) which Victor declined with a scowl—Gertrude told them to stay put at the dining table, rushing behind a door around a hallway in the off-white farmhouse. When she emerged not a few minutes later, in her arms were two tunics, a pair of dark trousers and a skirt.

Victor, in his black overcoat and white-collared shirt didn't need an extra set of clothing. Jimmy and Judy—

"We'll need you out of your nightclothes if you expect to help us around the farm."

Victor shot his siblings an exasperated look at this when Gertrude wasn't looking.

So Jimmy and Victor stayed in the living room as Judy changed in the hall closet. She wedged her night gown, her two diamond hair pins (she originally had three, but the third must have became loose) and her jeweled earrings behind a chest of drawers, promising to fetch them later, as a reminder of what she still considered home.

She shut the closet door behind her in her new skirt and tunic that were considerably more pleasant to be in than her usual fancy gowns, but less luxurious in the comparison of appearance. Gertrude wasn't present in the room, so Judy gathered Jimmy's dull red robes sprawled carelessly on the cushioned armchair and folded them quickly, dashing back into the closet to shove them behind the drawers.

Victor sighed when she came back. "If you hoard everything, you'll never be able to let things go."

Judy frowned. "I don't hoard."

"You do sometimes, actually." teased Jimmy.

Judy stuck her tongue at her twin, but it quickly darted back in her mouth as Gertrude appeared and indicated them to follow her as they made their way around the farmhouse, back to the stables.

"You three have parents?"

"No," Victor shook his head. "It's just us."

She raised an eyebrow, an action Judy wished she could do, but couldn't, no matter how much effort Jimmy put into teaching her. "You're runaways then?" Judy caught an undertone of wariness.

Victor shook his head again. "Our parents were murdered, and we ran away." he answered vaguely.

Gertrude's eyes widened, though murder wasn't all that uncommon. She didn't ask about their family again.

They reentered the horse stables, the animals stomping their hooves and emitting skittish noises. There was a single person occupying the building before them, a lanky boy with hair the color of straw, grooming a mare with specks of white on its rump. He looked to be of Victor's age.

He had the horse's bent foreleg between his knees as he crouched slightly, the hoof cupped in one hand as he picked off dirt with a metal hook. He turned his head when he heard their footsteps, and placed the horse's toe back on the ground as he stood. The boy smiled at Gertrude. "Ma'am."

"Michael." Gertrude greeted with a nod. "This is William, and Logan. They'll be helping you tend to the horses."

Judy couldn't suppress a smile at the alarmed expression on Victor's face and the apprehension on Jimmy's.

"It's a pleasure meeting you." Michael said politely.

Judy felt an abrupt bout of shyness sweep over her as she met Michael's eyes. They were of the brightest blue she'd ever seen.

"I'm Michael," he told Judy.

"J—Mary." she mumbled, wondering what was turning her brain into syrup, and her tongue into a rock.

He smiled—she'd never seen teeth so straight—and she tried to avoid looking directly at him, or she would blush harder or say or do something she would agonize over later. Turning to the horse behind him, he patted her shoulder. "This is Burst of Stardust." he said proudly to Judy's two brothers. "I was just preparing to shoe her. You two have much experience in replacing a horseshoe?" They didn't. "It's simple, really; I'll show you…"

Gertrude placed her hand on Judy's upper back, Judy relieved and disappointed that they weren't spending more time with Michael, as she lead the two out of the horse stables. And then, Judy felt a moment of panic as she realized she just left her brothers back there, and put herself in the hands of a woman she met less than two hours ago.

Maybe her expression betrayed her thoughts, because Gertrude reassured her, "You won't be doing anything too strenuous today. We'll be sewing, and you can feed the chickens later."

Sewing. Judy was proficient at that.

They entered the living room. "Mabel's feeding the chickens now, but she'll be here." Gertrude said, pulling a large wooden chest from under the bureau, and opening it to reveal baby clothes, tattered tunics, spare fabrics and sweaters too small for even Judy to wear comfortably, along with spools of colored thread and needles. "Winter's approaching, and we have only so long until the frost starts to bite."

The older woman handed her a dull gray sweater, and told her she wanted it a hat. "You know to sew, do you not?"

Judy quickly nodded, seating herself on the side chair. "Of course."

And she quickly found herself in the relaxing process of weaving in, out and back again. A half an hour later—Judy lost track of the time—Mabel skipped through the doors and Gertrude introduced them. Mabel thought it was funny their names matched, like they could be sisters, albeit Mabel was running away in terror from Judy's family back in the stables just hours ago. Mabel was friendly and cheerful in an irritating way, as she and Gertrude chatted about husbands and potential husbands and the army and men. It's all the same, mused Judy as she listened without comment, The only difference is their social rankings and amounts of money. Occasionally, they would attempt to coax Judy into the conversation, but soon realized she wanted to be in the sidelines, and let her be.

Judy was teetering on the balance of disliking Mabel and accepting her as an acquaintance, until she commented on how 'handsome' Victor was.

They took a break for a snack of apples once, and then went back to sewing the old into new.

After Judy finished two hats and was working on leggings out of the sleeves of the sweater, she misjudged the distance between the index finger and the needle, pricking the digit. She felt the familiar sting, sharp enough that she knew she drew blood. Impulsively, she promptly stuck her finger between her lips.

Gertrude, noticing this, sighed. Crossing the room, she removed the thimble from her finger and handed it to Judy. "Use this."

Judy thanked her, and removed her finger from her mouth. Gertrude went back to the armchair, and continued her conversation with Mabel. Judy looked, but there wasn't a thimble on Gertrude's finger.

"Gertrude," Judy said when the conversation reached a suitable stopping point, "You haven't any protection from the needle, why won't you use those?" she gestured to the pile of porcelain of thimbles in the corner of the open chest.

Judy felt heat rise to her cheeks as the ladies chuckled at her ignorance. "Those are keepsakes." Mabel corrected. "They're gifts, and aren't for sewing, but Mother keeps them in there, for decoration, is my guess. Father uses them to measure gunpowder, though."

Judy never got a thimble as a gift, and couldn't imagine ever receiving one, but nodded in understanding. She was about to slip on the silver utensil, when she realized her finger had not a hole as she could see. She squeezed her digit, but no blood beaded out. She could've sworn she tasted the salty liquid when it was in her mouth….

Gertrude stood when the grandfather clock chimed seven times. "I do believe 'tis time for the chickens to feed."

"I've never had to feed chickens before," objected Judy sheepishly, hoping she didn't sound arrogant.

She only smiled. "Now that won't do. Mabel, why don't you show the dear how."

Mabel hopped from her seat and took Judy's hand, skipping out the door way and scampering down the porch steps, Judy almost tripping down the last.

They raced to the old barn, Judy going easy on Mabel as not to upset her.

The barn smelt mostly of wheat and butter, and she could hear the occasional skitter of a mouse's feet and chitter. She also spotted owl droppings and glanced to the ceiling for it. There was a lump of mud and straw and twigs, but it was vacant.

Once inside, Mabel picked up two tin pails and bent down, attempting to lift an almost-full sack of grain. Judy immediatly went to help pour the buckets of the chicken feed.

"They like eating first thing in the morning," explained Mabel as they crossed the uneven terrain to the chicken coop. "So we fill the pails at night, and replace them at sunrise." She pointed to Judy's overflowing pail that spilled a bit of grain every time it bumped. "That's for the meat chickens. They need more exercise than the egg-laying ones, so you put that on the shelf."

Judy blinked in confusion. "Don't we need to spread it on the ground? So they don't fight over it?"

Mabel laughed, "No, they're pretty tame. It's the roosters that fight."

Judy nodded, and studied the two separate coops. They had a tall fence covering the perimeter and another to divide them, and the meat chickens had more outside than in, while the egg-laying chickens were mostly inside the shelter, but otherwise didn't look all that different. The chickens smelt of grain and corn and a little like her feet did when they spent all day in the same pair of shoes.

She watched as Mabel placed her pail in the center of the coop floor, picking up the quarter-full pail. The birds flocked to the bucket and stuck their heads in and out.

"If they're so hungry," Judy asked Mabel, "Why don't they finish that?" she gestured to the leftover grain.

"They only take what they like," answered Mabel with a shrug. "Fickle things, they are."

Judy ducked into the coop, grimacing as the birds scattered and flapped their wings to avoid her. She didn't understand this; they were fine with Mabel, one even let her stroke its feathers. She guessed it was because they weren't used to her scent. She set the full bucket and picked up the previous, near-empty container. The chickens didn't come near, only watched warily from afar.

Judy stepped off the ramp as Mabel frowned when the chickens gave the pail a wide berth—or as wide as they could in a tiny pen—and locked the gate. "Huh. They're usually friendly with all humans."

Judy knew Jimmy wasn't a human—no humans had those claws protruding from between their knuckles like that. If her blood brother wasn't human, did that mean she wasn't either? Or did the animals just recognize Jimmy's scent on her?

Judy's sharp ears picked up the sound of a ringing cowbell. Mabel grinned, "That's the supper bell. C'mon, I'm hungry."

"Me, too."

They deposed of the chicken feed in the pig trough, and the containers by stopping at the barn before returning to the farmhouse. The hired harvesters had gone home, and Michael lived in the farmhouse, so the only ones at the table were Samuel—who didn't speak at all—and Michael, Mabel, Gertrude, Judy, Jimmy and Victor. And steak, which wasn't chopped up and in stew this time.

Mabel and Gertrude started to set the table. Judy went to help, but Samuel spoke in that alpha voice of his, "_Mary,_ why don't you go and feed the cats."

Judy was slightly confused, but she knew cats, and liked them, so she nodded obediently, ignoring the reappearing sourness of his scent.

"They're usually in the barn at this time," piped up Mabel.

Judy took the burlap sack of cow entrails from Gertrude and slipped out the doorway, smiling when she heard her brother's footsteps behind her.

Like the gentleman he was taught to be, Jimmy took the bag from her.

"The horses hate me." he mumbled, and Victor laughed.

"What do you mean?" asked a confused Judy.

"Jimmy tried to lift Stardust's leg and she kicked him." snickered Victor, and Jimmy rubbed the small of his back with a grimace as he relived the memory.

Judy's eyes widened in worry. "You're okay, though?"

"Fine," he reassured. "It doesn't even hurt anymore. Mike says I'm lucky Stardust didn't break any bones."

"We couldn't shoe the horses after that, they're too frightened of us," Victor added, proudly, though Judy couldn't imagine why.

"Then what did you do?"

"We tended to the collies and the sheep," replied her twin. "Their wool gets stuck on everything. And they stink."

"They hate us, too." Victor added with a roll of his eyes.

Judy sighed, a bit envious. "All I did was sew and feed the chickens."

"I don't see any cats," mused Jimmy as the three stood at the double-doorway. They waited a few minutes, but there wasn't a meow.

"I'm heading back," announced an impatient Victor, turning on his heel.

"Why don't we leave the food here, and maybe they'll come later?" Judy told Jimmy.

He nodded and upturned the burlap so the entrails flopped to the floor, nose wrinkling in disgust.

They started back, and Judy looked back over her shoulder, still hoping to catch a glimpse of the outdoor cat. No luck, but she did notice something just as interesting. "Wait!" she called, causing her brothers to stop.

"What?"

"Let's go see something first." Judy started running back to the direction of the barn, knowing they would follow. They passed the wooden structure, and didn't stop until they reached the highest hill in the pasture, the one at the nick of the farm territory, where they had the best view of the area and of the rich colors of the setting sun.

They sat, and they watched, and these were the last, most beautiful colors Judy would ever see.

Nearly half an hour later, they were speeding across the terrain, hungry for their steak and supper.

"Sorry," gasped Judy after the three barged through the open door, "We were watching the sun set."

She felt a jolt of surprise when she looked up; for once Mabel was not smiling, and Michael's luminous eyes were full of hostilely. Directed towards Judy.

She felt guilt tug at her. "I'm really sorry you had to wait so long—"

She cut off as Samuel held up his hand. "Eat, before the steak gets any colder."

Mabel shot up from her chair, came back with three mugs and went back for four more. She set the first three near the three siblings' plate, and the other four by Michael's and her family. She cleared her throat. "Fruit is mighty hard to come by at this time, but we still scavenged up what was left of the black and blue berries before the crows got them, and we used what we had stored."

"For the juice," added Gertrude. "A treat, for you three. For your hard work today, and for willing to learn new things."

The three said their thanks—but not Victor, even when Judy nudged him under the table the boy was still too proud, and at the farmers' expectant looks, the twins each took sips out of the mugs. It was too sweet for Judy, but it made her feel safe and warm and snug, though the drink was cold, and she wanted more. Before she knew it, her mug was empty.

"Any more?" she tried to ask, but her mouth had apparently grown fur and swelled in size, as she found it extremely difficult to pronounce the simplest of words.

It didn't matter anymore, though, because she felt so sluggish, as if she was dreaming, and her eyes burned and her eyelids drifted closed involuntary. She vaguely heard Victor's voice, but it was muffled, like he was speaking above and she was underwater. But it sounded important, he was shouting and shaking her, and she attempted to rise, but the dream pulled her back under again, this time deeper, until the frantic voices faded away and there was silence.

**I would like to thank **_**princesslolitatheora654. **_**Though short, your encouraging review** **made my day! Shout out to you.**


	4. Caged Bird

The boy was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. He wouldn't have killed him otherwise. Did he cross the kitchen for a glass of water? A trip to the washroom, perhaps? The man didn't dwell on it, nor did he care. But he couldn't linger for long, and this boy's paces were much too slow.

Swiftly darting forward, he sunk his grooved incisors into the boy's neck. To keep him from screaming at the pain the venom would deliver, he clenched a hand around the boy's throat, allowing the blood drawn from the bite to drip through his fingers.

Leaving behind a modest trail wasn't his style, so after slitting the boy's stomach with a knife, he let the corpse fall limply to the ground in the center of the kitchen, near the base of the stove rather than bury the body outside. They wouldn't be able to track him; he was virtually untraceable when he put his mind to it.

He pressed his bloody hand atop the step top stove, and crimson print remained as he lifted it. The symbol of a bloody murder. They wouldn't see it first glance, but it was all but impossible to miss.

Following the scent of his prey, he stalked to the family room, where the sweetly fresh scent of innocence and children intensified. A grandfather clock here, an abandoned thimble there, everything reflective glittering in the moonlight that shone through the window.

They were here.

He was close. At least, the twins were. His eldest son's trail was fainter. But that was fine; he knew Victor had befriended James, and all three of them in one place made the hunt that much easier. Thomas was almost disappointed. Then again, they had no idea he was coming.

Pinpointing the spoor to the paint-peeling door, he twisted the knob and yanked it open. Coats hang on the rack above and two large wooden chests sat on either side of the cramped space.

Besides the stables, this was where the strongest lead was. But the children clearly weren't here. Growling in frustration, he slammed his fist atop the chest. The wood planks snapped in a flurry of dust and splinters. Whatever was inside shattered and crunched.

The light caught a tiny sparkle within the collapsed chest; a subtle flicker that Thomas's eyes did not miss.

It was a hairpin, he realized as he examined it between two fingers. It looked like one of Elizabeth's, the diamonds arranged in the shape of a flower.

Shoving aside the mass of painted wood, he uncovered the pile of sloppily folded scarlet cloth. Under this was the mud-tipped gown.

They _knew _he was hunting them down. He'd underestimated them. They had left a false trail, attempting to throw him off.

Footsteps thundered through the rotting farmhouse. His cue to leave.

…

The jostling and the thud of her head against a wooden structure caused a shock of adrenaline to course through her veins as Judy opened her eyes. How long had she been asleep, or unconscious? This was the second time she had awoken. She recalled the hazy memory. The first was when she was being carried; she tried to squirm away or bite a hand, but was held down as bittersweet liquid burned her throat as it trickled down...

Her mouth was still a bit fuzzy, but she barely noticed this, for her jaws ached like something awful. Every tooth hurt as if they were plucked out. She felt them with her tongue, and was relieved to find them still intact. When she went to moisten her dry lips, she felt the cloth pressing at her mouth. She struggled to remember the events of the previous night—if it was the next day, the room she was in gave no hints of the time—and they tentatively returned.

The farmers—the Campbells was what they called their farm—had drugged their drinks, she realized with a pang of betrayal. And to think she was finally starting to battle her dislike for Mabel. But why? They seemed like trustworthy folks... unless the rumor of Thomas Logan's and John Howlett's murder had somehow reached the ears of the Campbells.

She groaned in frustration and self loathing behind her gag. How could she trust mere strangers so blindly? No, how could she trust _humans _so willingly? Every human they came across would shun or drop her in the dust when they found out about, well, anything and everything her siblings did wrong. She was not human, she decided. She was something more—or less—than the fearful things. But it wasn't just the humans, it was the animals as well. They avoided her and her brothers' predatory presences.

Inwardly kicking herself, she realized Victor was right to hesitate when the Campbells reached out to help.

She vowed to trust no one but her brothers from now on.

Judy took a breath through her nose, focusing on her senses. Her brothers' scent was strong, and near. She smelt wood, and blood and an undertone of grain. She could smell horses, sweat and the scent of washed clothing. She caught the distant fresh scent of trees and wildlife, the mustiness of the ground below and horse manure.

She could hear loud, even breaths of her unconscious brothers and their slow heartbeats—they were in the same vehicle, she thought with relief. She could hear the groaning of wheels on an axis and the thud of the rotating circles when they hit the ground after rolling over a rock or bump in the road. She heard the rhythmic thumps of horse hooves on dry soil, and the beasts' pants and shorts. Along with the animal heartbeats, she could hear a few softer, distinct ones of men.

She could feel her wrists rub against the rough rope that was tied too tight above her hands and ankles. The back of her fingers pressed against aged, splintered wood. Her head rested against the same wall, and she craned her neck to relieve the kinks. There was a third rope tightly wound above her elbows, pinning her arms to her sides. As her eyes adjusted, there appeared to be two unmoving forms before and next to her. The smaller one, whom she knew immediately as Jimmy was on his side to her right. Victor was before her, with his chin resting on his chest, his torso slumped forward. Soon, her eyes took in the right amount of light so she could see every fold of their clothing and the tiny gaps between the wood surrounding the tiny cabin that let in the twilight.

She attempted to move, but mobility was much limited. When she scooted her rump to the side to try to wake Victor, she only fell to the side, her shoulder landing hard on the adjacent wall. Growling, she tucked her knees to her chest, and rolled back to a sitting position, her legs tucked under her. The wagon jostled again, and she lost balance, straining the ropes around her as she fell atop Victor. The jarring movement caused her jaws together, delivering a fierce bout of pain. She groaned again, involuntarily.

Her older brother startled, waking immediately as Judy struggled to get off him. He attempted to push her off, only to find his hands were tied behind him. Muffled curses that were clear and audible to Judy caused her to blush as Victor squirmed and attempted to gain his mobility.

Judy rolled off her brother, kicking Jimmy awake in the process and she supported herself with a bent elbow. She struggled again with the ropes around her hands, trying to slip out, but alas, her hands were too wide.

Jimmy mumbled a sound that sounded like a question, as he rolled onto his back and came to. Victor ordered his brother to calm down as his heart rate rose.

"Judy, can you turn around?" Victor said, authority and confidence his tone, and not a hint of fear or worry.

Judy did as told, it took some time in the cramped space, but she was soon able to turn a full 180 degrees.

Victor studied the ropes that pinned her wrists together, and was about to turn around also, when the wall to her right fell open, the gloomy light pouring within.

There, two men stood, both carrying the stench of tobacco. They both had mean looking faces as they leered at the children. Victor glared right back, and they didn't like that.

"You'ren't s'posed to be awake." said the buff man gruffly, suspiciously.

"Must've not given them enough morphine," muttered the other. "Doesn't matter though, we're almost there." Louder, as if he expected them to hear this statement, "You're in no place to try anything."

They climbed into the wagon, tightened the confining ropes and forced the morphine down their throats. Victor put up the most struggle, but when the heavier man sat upon him, was less of a match.

The wall came back down, and darkness enveloped the three once again. Judy waited for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, everything was more blurred than before. She was grateful the pain in her jaw had lessened, though still wasn't comfortable. Her last thought as the drug pulled her captive into the depths of sleep was that she couldn't identify the colors her captors were wearing.

…

She was on a firm mattress when she came to. It smelt so strongly of hay and straw it only took a single whiff to realize her mattress was filled with it. She immediately jumped to her feet, ruffling her hair with one hand and her clothes with the other, feeling for fleas and ticks.

None decided to bite her, nor did she feel any, but she didn't know what they felt like, just heard stories. She couldn't be too careful, though, and decided not to touch that bed again.

It wasn't a bed, actually. Just a mattress on the floor. There were six more empty mattresses around her, in rows of two, with sheets littered with holes and the occasional pillow. They were the only objects in the dreary room, besides the window with rotting shutters. The walls were a filthy-gray white with dark mold at the wall bases and peeling paint. The cold wood floor was sticky and cold, causing Judy to wish she had some form of protection for her feet, even if it had to be those uncomfortable buckle shoes.

Deciding she wanted out of this sad little room with the lingering feel of hopelessness and the scent of sweat and tears, she reached for the rusty black doorknob, before receiving a glance at her skirts. Her dark gray skirts with lighter patches to cover the holes. She could have sworn the skirt was green, and the patches orange. She knew she wasn't losing her memory, because her skin was a white-gray, rather than its usual pink-tan.

Panicking, she studied the room again; white and gray. She opened the door, black and white hallways. A man's portrait; gray and white. All the rainbow colors she enjoyed before were bleached to a dark, washed-out world.

Her sight had deteriorated greatly… yet improved, she attempted to reason with the disappointment. The more she thought about it, she realized it was true. She could see every stroke of the brush in the painting, every sliver of wood in the floorboards, every strand of fabric in her tunic sleeve.

The sharp clicks of wood against wood sounded behind her. "Judith Howlett?"

She nodded out of habit, turning to a woman. Judy could see every flake of powder on her cheek, and although her lips were gray rather than cherry red, she could still observe every wrinkle in the skin.

"I'm, uh," she winced as her aching teeth clinked together. She didn't sound like herself, either. Her voice was scratchy and rough, like it was when Jimmy would wake her up and she'd tell him to go away; right when she submerged from unconsciousness. "Looking for my brothers." At the woman's confused look, she added, "Victor and Ja—"

A thundering of multiple pairs of feet thundered as she spoke, and she glanced to the staircase. Four young women, aging from fifteen to nine scrambled down the steps. All were in dingy bonnets, tunics and skirts, and Judy immediately recognized them as the maids and caretakers; the ones who would tidy her room, make her bed and empty the chamber pots.

"Madam Bellaire." They softly greeted in unison with their curtsies.

"Girls," Bellaire, introduced. "This is Judith."

They greeted her the same respectful way.

Judy wondered if she too would have to be rubbing the floor at a master's feet on her hands and knees in the near future. She prayed she wouldn't. But she was in the right outfit to do so.

"Now, where are you girls heading in such a rush?" Madam Bellaire asked disapprovingly.

"We—we were just off to Town's Square." mumbled the eldest ducking her head. The others followed suit. "Master Bellaire requested a cake from the bakery." she added, but not before inhaling a deep breath.

The scent of anxiety wafted around Judy's head, along with the wrongness of a lie. This girl was being dishonest with her mistress.

Madam Bellaire nodded. "Fair enough. Take Judith with you; show her around and whatnot."

The girls bobbed their heads, and two linked their arms through Judy's on either side of her, causing a feeling of uneasiness to wash through her.

She didn't want to go with them; she wanted to ask about her brothers and what happened and how she got here—why she was here. She wanted to find Victor and Jimmy. But the only trace of their scent was on her. She never realized how cold and lost she could feel without them.

As the girls led her through the hallways and out of sight of their superiors, the eldest of their group glanced over her shoulder to Judy. "I'm Caroline." I had a maid who called herself Caroline, but Judy didn't voice her thoughts aloud. "That's Sophia—" the short one with freckles and dark hair and a friendly smile that displayed a gap between her two front teeth. "Amelia—" the only girl who wasn't smiling glared at Judy. "And Polly." The chubby one with a bounce in her step. Determined to keep all their names in her head, she inwardly repeated them thrice more.

"Jud-Judith." Only her brothers were to call her Judy, she decided abruptly.

"We know," Amelia rolled her eyes like it was obvious, causing Judy's face to flush.

"It was only polite to—" she cut off when she realized she was speaking too quietly and too quickly for anyone to hear. "Never mind." she mumbled to herself.

The girls were distracted besides, running over to a carriage with a waiting coach and a stableboy fitting the harness on a horse. Sophia had unconsciously let go of Judy's elbow and was joining Caroline in convincing the coach to take them to Town's Square. Judy could smell the dishonesty, again.

"We're not getting cake." she whispered to Polly's ear as they hung back from the group.

Polly's face flushed in shame, and she tucked a strand of hair back into her bonnet in embarrassment of being caught lying to their mistress. "We are buying cake, act-actually." she stuttered. "Just—"

"Where are we going, really?" Judy pushed.

Polly smiled a little nervously. "Just don't tell Madam Bellaire, alright?"

"Tell her what?"

"Well…" she stalled, and Judy realized they were doing something they should be guilty for. Judy waited, and Polly hesitated. With her patience wearing thin, her jaw clenched, and with it came the jolt of pain. A high-pitched, somewhat satisfying growl emitted from Judy's throat when Polly still failed to speak.

Polly flinched, her eyes wide as she gazed fearfully at Judy. Taking a step back, she stuttered, "We're going to watch the burning of the devil's assassin." she whispered this quietly, but not too quietly for Judy's ears.

"Devil's assassin?" calmer, Judy's annoyance was replaced with confusion.

Polly relaxed some too. Nodding, "I've only seen one before. They tortured him into confession." she shuddered. "But Caroline wants to watch so…"

A sense of uneasiness chilled Judy's spine. "What did he do?"

Polly grimaced and turned around to grab Judy's hand and help her into the carriage. The coach shut the door behind her as she took her seat across Polly. "They say he possessed two and killed another two by hand."

"That's four people in two days," piped up Caroline, too cheerfully for a conversation of death. "So James Howlett will deserve his place in hell!"

**To ABewilderedBear: **I know right?Here's another (look up). Hypocritical, I know!


	5. Pointer Dog

"Exciting, isn't it?" the words finally broke through Judy's thoughts. Actually, not thoughts. Judy wasn't thinking at all; her mind blank as a slate. She'd learned about the brain in her studies, and giggled at the thought of an empty head that shattered like egg shells.

She had been smiling wide, or baring her teeth, so when she started to laugh hysterically, the other girls warily leaned away from her. That was okay, though. She was better than them; superior in her mind with an education that probably never received, and also physically, with her flourishing senses. She was above them all, so what did it matter? What mattered were her equals' and superiors' opinions.

"What's so funny?"

Amelia elbowed Caroline, rolling her eyes. "Her name! Judith Howlett! She probably shares blood with that James Howlett boy."

That placed an ice wall stretching for miles and miles between Judy and the other girls.

An uncomfortable silence caused the trip to seem so much longer than it should have been. Judy avoided their eyes, not because she ashamed to admit she was Jimmy's sister, but because she was afraid they'd see the struggle in her expression; the conflict in her eyes. When she thought about it, she never really had been able to see emotions in others' _eyes. _No, that only happened in the books. But she still didn't have the courage to look at them directly.

She would not allow herself to think about… her brother(s). Not until she earned herself some form of privacy. Emotions crossed her face far too often and dramatically, she knew this. If she were to mull over her present situation, she'd humiliate herself.

It was a lot harder to not care what the girls thought than to tell her she didn't.

She was so caught up in attempting to control her thoughts, until she imagined Jimmy's neck hyperextending and then bending at an angle that would cause that familiar glow to leave his dully colored eyes.

Finally, rocks settled in her stomach and deep into her chest until she couldn't breathe. She couldn't remember how. _Inhale. Inhale! _She did, but incorrectly, as the breath stuttered, and snorted. Her nose started to run and clog and burn, and she whimpered. If she weren't already seated, she probably would have collapsed.

If only she hadn't persuaded Victor to trust the Campbells. This entire nightmare would never have happened, and they'd be in the woods.

The forest; how much she'd rather be there. Making a house with Victor and Jimmy where no one would ever, ever find them, criticize them and turn away in disdain at Victor's nails or the three bones that slid from between Jimmy's knuckles. And when Jimmy and Victor would look at their hands, they wouldn't be disgusted or ashamed; they would be proud, like Judy was of them. They'd have long, happy lived in a cozy cabin near a river and have a variety of fresh foods right at their fingertips.

This picture lifted her spirits somewhat—the images in her mind had a tendency to become so vivid she could briefly convince herself it was real—until she opened her eyes into the claustrophobic cabin with tension making the room stuffy and hot, and the sparkling fall leaves gave way to a dull, gray world.

Black and gray made her sad.

Soon the rumbling and squeaking of the wooden wheels that were rolling them along, and the jingle of the horses' harnesses silenced, and the coachman helped the ladies out. The four girls marched across town, speaking into one another's ear in hushed voices Judy could hear over the din as if it were her ear the words were directed to. Judy trailed behind them, feeling awkward and out of place, weary of the crowds and shaking her head at the attention-seeking vendors.

She wished father were here with her, leading her through crowds and purchasing everything she ogled over.

And just like that, she couldn't breathe again.

She sat herself down against the wall of an unpopular shoe shop, the put her head in her hands, unable to keep her tears at bay.

Judy had received her name from her grandmother of many generations, Judith Quiney. Judith had a long tragic life, so when Judy researched her namesake, she had asked her father why he would name her after someone as such.

Her father had told her every time someone said her name, she should remember her own regrets and mistakes, and Judith's mistakes, then take care to avoid them, because Howletts didn't repeat wrongdoings.

This was why she wanted them to say "Judith" when she was around. This way, she could keep herself from forgetting.

The original Judith had lost her twin brother, Hamnet, to the plague, and then disappointed her father with her choice of a husband. And then discovered her husband had had his way with a pregnant mistress. Judith Quiney's firstborn died within his first six months, and Judith was alive when her next two perished as well.

History was going to repeat, and _her_ twin brother would die prematurely as well, except this time of unjust reasons because she knew him, and his soul was pure and kind and everything a devil's assassin wasn't. She didn't know anything about the other three deaths that apparently took place around the same time, coincidentally where Jimmy had placed his footsteps, but Thomas Logan's death had been an accident; Jimmy had been in the wrong mind, blinded with rage of his 'father's' murder, and served justice where it was needed.

Jimmy wasn't supposed to die for an idle reason; from the day he had fell from a tree in attempt to keep up with her, she knew right away as he stood right back up even with a gash on his shin James Howlett was going to do big things. Jimmy was going to change the world someday, and Judy was going to stand back and cheer him on. It was determined, stubborn Jimmy who would shine like the sun; not irresolute, pliable Judy who found running away much more appealing than staying to fight. Wasn't that why she wasn't home now in the first place? Victor and Jimmy were chasing their destinies; she was running away.

She thought this situation would be so much easier if it was Victor being punished. Then she felt guilt weigh down her chest for letting this to even cross mind. She wanted Jimmy and Victor to switch places not because Victor was powerful and stronger, but because she loved Jimmy more. Granted, Jimmy was closer to Victor than she was, and though she could feel the bond between them stronger than what she had with her own mother, she didn't really _know _him. What was his favorite color? Did he prefer beef or chicken? Pork to fish?

This did nothing to ease the weights on her chest, and the more she thought about it, the emptier she felt. She wondered if she'd ever see them again, ever be able to get to know Victor better. In the past couple days, she had at some point realized the world was bigger than she could ever imagine, and she didn't even travel as far as she would when she visited the farmers' markets with her parents.

Knowing the shopkeeper would order Judy off his property if he saw her, she hefted herself to her feet with more effort than it should have taken. Pressing her palms to her cheeks, she was surprised to find them dry. She hadn't shed a tear, because she couldn't. No crying in public, her mother would tell her, It will blemish your cheeks and swell your eyes.

Of course, the girls she came with were out of sight, and for a brief moment, Judy wondered if she could run away again. Quickly dismissing the thought, she acknowledged the fact that she couldn't take drastic actions without her brothers and besides, albeit she had a vague pull towards the direction of her father's manor, she would face dire consequences if she tried to escape the mistress she now worked for as an orphan.

Orphaned. Judy never could have imagined her own name associated with that adjective.

She knew she didn't have parents anymore because if she had, she would have returned to her stepfather's—now mother's—manor, rather than whatever region she currently in. Had her mother disowned her? Or was Mother dead too? Judy wasn't sure which possibility she preferred.

Judy walked the streets, evading shop wagons and crowds, inhaling deeply; ignoring the stench of emotions and whatever anyone was advertising; searching for Jimmy's scent of herb medicine and straw. After all, if they're going to publicly hang him, they'd need to bring him out first, right? Hopefully hidden in a wagon that wasn't too heavily guarded.

Judy would not, could not live with herself if she just stood by as he died. She hated this hole eating at her insides, could not stand it any longer.

But the longer time went on, the more helpless she felt, and the more doubt began to nag at her. What if she had missed the execution? No, if Jimmy was dead, she was pretty sure she would have felt it. Deep inside her, like when he was badly sick, the pit of her stomach would feel painfully queasy. What if she did find him? Then what? She would be powerless against their guns and pitchforks, and Jimmy's claws could only kill one or two at a time. And she doubted Jimmy would have the ruthlessness in him to stab innocent bystanders.

She wandered about, briefly entering a couple public churches and even walked in a council debate that had a she thought smelt vaguely familiar (everyone was staring at her as her thin shoes loudly flopped on the marble floors—it was worse than tripping over the trimmed hem of a dress at a ball. Everyone here looked so serious). Jimmy wasn't there.

Feeling like she was walking in circles, she stepped aside as not to clog the narrow paths on the streets and kept herself from panicking. Where did religious executions take place? At the church or council building. She'd never been to an execution before; she'd only been in town a handful of times in life. Women mainly stayed home while the men went hunting and traveling. She remembered always working herself into an excited frenzy whenever her father took her places outside their territory; new experiences had always appealed to her. Now she had to ponder why they did. She certainly didn't feel brave as she did with her father.

But she had to focus on the task at hand. _Options: Sniff Jimmy out. Ask someone._

Of course. But these people seemed so rushed and were moving so quickly. And she didn't really enjoy talking to strangers.

As she stepped over the foyer to a glove maker's building, a wanted poster nailed to the door drew her eyes.

WANTED: JAMES HOWLETT, VICTOR CREED

£25 REWARD JAMES HOWLETT

£20 REWARD VICTOR CREED

Taking a step back, she decided to ask someone else.

Judy approached a seemly calmer woman admiring the dresses through a window with her daughter. "Excuse me? Miss?" Her jaws were no longer aching, she noted for the first time. But as she spoke, her tongue scraped against something sharp. For moment, blood coated the inside of her mouth, then was gone; without a trace when she swallowed. Judy would have found this strange, if the woman wasn't cringing away from her with fearful eyes as she turned her child away by the shoulders.

Judy didn't like the way the lady gazed at her, but yet, it filled her veins with a thrill that came with the impulse to chase the woman who was skittering away. She shook off the thought, disturbed at her abrupt urge to hunt and kill.

Impulsively, Judy turned to the window the mother was studying. It was a beautiful dress, a wide hem trimmed in dark silk, crossed with ribbons and elaborate flower and vine designs. As her eyes focused on the cloth, she could see the detailed craftsmanship and dedication the artist had penciled on this garment. She couldn't tell what the chosen color was, but guessed it was as vivid as the silk.

Her face reflected on the glass; the dark clouds had apparently shifted to allow the sun to shine in such an angle that gave her reflection much clarity as it would in a mirror.

Pressing against the corners of her bottom lip were two sharp-tipped canines, stark white and unmarried. They looked like Dracula's**(1)** teeth she'd seen as a sketch in book once. Judy pulled her lips back in a sneer that felt strange on her usually soft expression.

Her bottom canines, not as lengthy as the upper, jutted out and curved inwards, like miniature porcelain daggers. Her bottom molars and premolars were longer that the above, each tooth carved with purpose at the sides and caved inward at the middle. When she brought her jars together, they slid perfectly into place; the bottom canines gliding before the upper and said higher overlapping all the other white jewels. They all fit purposely, like puzzle pieces.

Knowing these were earning her strange glances, she pursued her lips until all were covered and turned away from the glass window. She wasn't at all horrified like that lady or Caroline and company, no, she was proud and curious at what she could do with them.

But she needed to focus on the task at hand. _Jimmy._

She prodded at the molars with her tongue, scraping the muscle more than once, drawing blood before it stopped. She never bled for long.

And then it was there. But then it disappeared as if it never were, concealed under the scent freshly baked bread. At first, she thought it was the doctor (that misled her twice) selling relaxing herbal medicine, but when she looked back, he still stood at the curb with his wooden lid of little sacks of meshed leaves and roots. The faint, familiar scent of her brother—which she would have missed if she wasn't so attentive to what her nose told her—had wafted from the opposite direction, and the doctor was downwind.

Judy sprinted towards its general direction, and then came to a standstill a couple yards later. She didn't want to miss it. Inhaling deeply, all she gathered were the immediate aromas near her. How strange this sight must have been, a girl sniffing the air as a hound would.

Not only did her nose feel as if it was coated in ice, she didn't find a trace in the air.

Maybe it had been her imagination, her mind playing tricks to ease the hopelessness. It felt real, though. However, sometimes she'd hear things that weren't real, probably recited from memory, which at times made it difficult to determine whether those barely-there, faint sounds were fragments of imagination or not. But never with her nose.

Her eyes were changing, though, so maybe her nose was too. It was all so confusing, albeit it was interesting to focus on a single object it would get larger and larger until it looked as if she were standing right by it. Judy would have played with the extent of her senses if not for her persistent impulse to find Jimmy because he _was _near.

Growing more frustrated by the minute, she went sit herself down out of the way, in the sticky alley between two buildings to mull over more options.

As she lowered herself to the gritty ground (maybe a few days ago she would have turned her nose at dirtying her petticoat in such a way, but now couldn't bring herself to care) scents intensified**(2)** and Jimmy's faint herbal spoor triggered a hunting impulse in her, and she was following the trail before she had even realized she had gotten up.

The trails lead her to a shrine at the border of the village, at which a meager crowd had formed, a group that included Caroline, Sophia, Amelia and Polly.

Judy would have kicked herself if she could. She also would have smacked herself for relying solely on her unreliable nose. She wished she wasn't acting so _stupid _as to attempt to arrive at the execution before the girls did, when she could have just _followed them._

Because she was too late. Too late!

They were already disposing of the body.

**(1): Dracula was published in 1897, but I'm going to keep it how it is. You can replace **Dracula **for **vampire** in your head.**

**(2): Cold air brings scent molecules downward. Fun fact for y'all (ya'll?). **

_**Alyssana**_**: **Thanks! I'm really happy you're enjoying the story, enough that you're willing to review. I'm sorry it took awhile to update.

**There aren't disclaimers because this is Fanfiction.** **However. All ideas that don't have to do with the movie are my own. I have yet to explore Fanfics similar to my own, so if the ideas are cliché, I don't have a right to say oops or sorry. **

**Judy (meaning her appearance, mutation extensions, et cetera.) is based off an animal that may or may not become evident as the story drags on. You can guess though reviews and PMs. Entertain me. :)**


	6. Dead Dogs

**As I write this, I eat my own homemade trail mix that includes every yummy dry snack in the pantry (i.e. cereal w/dehydrated strawberries, almonds, cookies, M&amp;M's, raisins). It's delicious. Here, try it *hands you a cup of tail mix through computer screen* **

Judy's gaze was fixed to the ground. She couldn't focus on anything else. The longer she stared, the more details defined themselves in the bark dust and soil. Then her fingers were clutching at it, clutching at the guilt that tore at her insides like hunger, eating at her from the inside out until she was but a shell.

Oh, but they weren't finished yet. Disappointment in herself, snatching away any belief in her own capabilities. Sorrow and longing, reaching for what was once there, and now wasn't—never would be.

And indignation too, somewhere in the pile of weights across her shoulders that had been taken from what was inside. Indignation at Jimmy, who had abandoned her in a world that was growing darker every day. It was irrational, but truer than the silvery sky that shone brilliantly as if to mock her.

Feeling eyes burn into her, she brought her weight to her weak knees and stumbled to the stone monument, seemly devoid of people. It felt as if no one else was around, and she felt even lonelier. To think she was griping about the color of her gown just three or four days ago. Back then, she was in the worst period of her life; wishing she were young again so she could play, rather than study, dress up and meet suitors. Now, there were so many variables in her life to complain about, if she could go back she'd never whine again.

Now, as she sat on her knees before the shrine, picking splinters from her palms, she regretted every game of Marbles or Jackstraws she denied Jimmy, every bark she snapped at him for idle reason, and all the times she supported her mother when he was being scolded.

For a split second, she knew what would happen before it did, and she wasn't sure how, but if she were stronger she might have had the reflexes to dash away; or if her nose weren't so clogged and the din ringing in her ears weren't so loud she could have avoided it. But she knew her limbs were too heavy as if the weights of her sorrow were actually physical, and it was likely she couldn't have gotten up anyway.

A large, calloused hand closed around both her jugular veins and cut off her cry. The force tilted her chin until she was staring at the malicious expression of Thomas Logan; his breath of the stench of metallic blood and his skin carrying the opposing fresh scent of soil.

And when he grinned in victory, his smile had the prominent dagger-like display as she did. Though at closer inspection, were different. Two darkly tipped canines curved inward on each side while the opposite row of teeth jutted out and overlapped the top; somewhat resembling pincers. Judy whimpered.

"Elizabeth loved you, you know that?" he mused. "Wanted you to be better than her."

The accusatory glare he pinned her with caused her to flinch. He talked about her mother as if Judy had done something terrible to her. Perhaps she did.

As his grasp tightened on her windpipe, Judy found it difficult to draw in air. She clawed at his forearm, but the hide was too thick and her chewed nails did little. "I know—" his tone strained, as if his words would affect him in a painful way. "Because she loved me, too."

Lov_ed. _ Was Elizabeth no longer alive? Judy wasn't sure if the ache in her throat was from her sire's grip or her suppressed tears anymore.

"She took her own life," continued Thomas, coincidentally answering her question. "I'm going to take yours."

_But you played a bigger hand in her death! _she protested, but she wouldn't have spoken this aloud even if she could speak. Thomas was supposed to be dead also; she saw the fatal wound with her own eyes! But if he was alive now, maybe he couldn't die, which meant the only life to blame and claim was her own.

She was going to die here, now, and no one would know what happened.

Apparently, Thomas wasn't yet finished, so she still had time to plan escape. Unfortunately, Judy had trouble thinking under pressure.

"If you're like me, or Victor, you won't stay dead." Thomas drawled, confirming her theory. His fist ceased the meager flow of oxygen she was receiving, and then Judy couldn't breathe. "But then, how will you heal without a head?" The man produced a knife with his opposite hand, unsheathing it with a flourish.

Her lungs would burst before the blade would reach her face, and in a state of desperation as the details of Thomas's face began to blur, she twisted and snapped at his forearm. He evaded the assault, shifting his hand out of range and pressing his forearm to her neck instead. She took a grateful breath as the grip loosened. He half-dragged her behind the statue after studying his surroundings; now out of sight.

The cool breath of metal chilled her flesh as the knife replaced the limb bruising her neck and Thomas held her in place by wrapping his powerful arm around her torso. She squirmed, brushed against the cruelly sharp blade and felt the tingle of a single trickle of blood travel downwards.

Thomas tsked and slowly sawed; back and forth, back and forth. So agonizingly slowly. He relished the taunt whimpers, suppressed cries and tears that diluted the blood.

How had her life come to this? To depart from this world with a legacy that did more harm than good? To play such a small role in the world, and to die with no epic tale to tell, no romance or princes or true love? When had she truly lived in this lifetime? She had never been overseas or even out of Canada. And had she ever once told her family she loved them, or said a final goodbye to Jimmy and apologize?

Is this how her story would end, in the clutches of her kin departing her head from the rest of her body? In pain and in a pool of blood? ….But wasn't this how Jimmy had died? Or had his death been quick and painless. Maybe she'd ask him once she was on the other side.

With every swipe of the blade against her throat, the pain intensified until she could concentrate on nothing else. She couldn't feel how deep in it was, only that it hurt like nothing she'd ever felt before. And the blood pooled in her lungs until she was choking on it, hacking but unable to move or breathe. Finally, the pain eased, just slightly, but enough to make her groan in relief. However, she still couldn't exactly feel her feet and gritty hands, and her sight was starting to dim—actually, all her senses were, as if when they'd just reach the peak of their capabilities and was now lessening.

Thomas said something, laughed maybe, but she heard the sound like she was underwater… Victor was trying to wake her… The next time she would wake, she'd be tied up and facing Jimmy's death…

No. No, Jimmy wasn't going to die. Not twice, he didn't deserve that. It wasn't right. Being underwater, separated from everything she knew wasn't right, either. Determination. That's what she felt. To live, to love, to run. If only, if only she had one more chance. She'd make the most of her life then. She would grieve for Jimmy, always, but she would move on. Not forget him, but store him in her memory and prevent him from keeping her from truly living. What did it feel like, to truly live? Would it be emotional, or exhilarating? Would she be laughing, or would she be screaming from joy or torment? She wouldn't know, not if she died. The world was too good to leave! Too full of discoveries to be made, about herself and everything around. And did she have questions!

She lurched forward—her tormentor's grip had loosened as he guffawed—and the dagger slit her throat but she hardly felt it. A bushy hand grabbed her, and she bit it. She didn't expect her teeth to draw blood, as the skin was thick so her nails couldn't penetrate it, but her incisors and canines sunk into it easily, as if it were cheese.

She would have comped further if Thomas hadn't released her, or at least loosened his grip enough for her to escape—she wasn't fully aware of anything but her resolve to survive—but as soon as she could, she was tearing down the plane; the opposite direction of the hamlet.

Judy could feel Thomas on her trail, sprinting after her, and she willed her legs to carry her further, faster. Steadily, the world stopped swaying and grew in focus. Soon, she could clearly hear sire's footfalls thumping after her. She gasped her breaths; there was still too much blood clogging her pipes and confiscating the space where air should be, so she spit the blood that was in her mouth, but it helped none.

She felt herself slowing involuntarily, she had too little oxygen to breathe and her legs were lead weights. _No!_ She snapped. So she maintained her pace. But as Judy stumbled, she was roughly tackled to the solid ground. So close! So close was she to the pine trees that laid just ahead; still so far but she could have made it. Crying out in frustration, she thumped her fist to the grass below her. But the shout had taken too much air at once and she coughed and hacked until she regurgitated the blood in her lungs and whatever was previously in her stomach. It was a relief, but once again was she in death's claws.

"Pathetic, girl." cackled Thomas Logan, who sat atop her. Now she had no chance of getting away. "But you did inherit my abilities. Congratulations. Savor the power while you have it."

Judy didn't understand what the man meant; whatever was this lunatic babbling about? But she was in no position to worry about now. She struggled under his enormous weight to no avail.

There was a thud, and Thomas suddenly leapt off her. She rolled over to sit up, to find Jimmy with three bones the length of his forearms extended on each hand, one coated with blood. Thomas had his hand pressed to his shoulder and stood hunched over a mere few paces away, smirking.

Jimmy was alive! Judy wanted to run over and hug him, but now was not the time.

"How does it feel, son?" taunted Thomas Logan. "To have your heart stop and start again?"

To Judy's surprise, Jimmy answered honestly. "Like you're in a nightmare; you can't get on your feet no matter what." said Jimmy flatly, his voice hoarse.

Thomas nodded, and took a step forward. Jimmy in turn took a step back, eyeing the dagger.

"Don't trust me?" Thomas teased, laughter in his tone. He seemed to find the entire situation amusing.

"You tried to kill her." Jimmy's voice was still coldly emotionless, but he stood protectively before his sister. "Like you did our father."

Finally, Thomas's grin faded. His eyes narrowed. "He wasn't your father, boy."

"Maybe not, but neither are you."

Judy couldn't help but gape at her brother in surprise. Gone was the sweet, softhearted boy she grew up with, and what emerged was someone cold and scarred, one who resembled Victor, and admittingly, Thomas Logan. Well, the previous one; the aloof groundskeeper that she had come to know through Victor.

She wondered what had happened to cause this transition. Did it occur at the hanging, or when she just wasn't paying much attention? She was too afraid to ask.

Abruptly, Jimmy whirled around, his claws retracting as he did, and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet in one smooth motion. They promptly ran, and didn't stop until they were both safe; deep in the woods. Even without daring a glance over her shoulder, she knew Thomas Logan hadn't made any attempt to pursue them, and she wondered why.

Both were panting like hounds at summer's peak, and Judy took a moment to look at him. He was still in the same clothes Gertrude had given him, except the rags were caked in filth; soil, grass and even what she presumed to be soot. Judy couldn't care less though, and had her arms around him in a heartbeat.

He embraced her back, but pulled away too soon. "You're covered in blood."

"You died!" Judy cried, and began to weep.

Jimmy rubbed her shoulder awkwardly. "I'm fine now, Judy." he offered lamely.

When she finally settled down, she answered, "But I saw them take you away. You were dead."

"I healed," Jimmy smiled sardonically. "Thomas Logan healed, and you healed." he pressed two fingers to her throat.

Judy placed her palm where Jimmy's fingers formerly were, and was mildly astonished to find the skin once broken was sealed as if there wasn't a wound at all. Blood still stained her tunic, and her flesh was sticky with it, but it was gone—scar, bruises and all.

"What happened?" it was whispered, but to Judy's ears, sounded as clear and loud as church bells. "After you healed?"

"There was fire. I ran, they chased after me. I heard your shout and followed it. When I got here, the townies were gone. And then I stabbed Logan, again." he explained briefly.

Jimmy spoke the truth, but Judy could tell she wasn't receiving the full story. He was clenching his jaw, and glaring at nothing, so she didn't question him.

"And you?" Jimmy met her eyes sternly, and she knew she wouldn't be able to lie, even if she tried. Jimmy had their mother's eyes. "How did you get to town? How did Logan find you?"

"I think he tracked me by our scents, I found you by yours," she responded as they hiked deeper into the forests. They felt vulnerable if they stayed put for an extended amount of time; Thomas could be eyeing his prey from a faraway tree this minute. "I woke up as an orphaned maid at the Bellaire Manor and rode to the village with the other girls; they wanted to see your execution." Judy made the decision not to call him 'devil's assassin,' for the way his lips pursed when she voiced 'execution,' he wasn't fond of reliving the moment. Again Judy wondered what had occurred to cause her brother to act this way. "Thomas Logan assaulted me at the shrine. And then you came." She also kept quiet about her colorblindness; Jimmy was troubled enough.

He nodded in satisfaction. "I woke up twice in that wagon: when you woke me and when they took Victor. He was first to go, they stopped at some factory, I think." Jimmy shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. When he dropped his arms, a ring of charcoal lingered, leaving him with the look of a raccoon. "It's all kind of fuzzy."

Judy nodded sympathetically. She could barely remember herself kicking Jimmy awake. "What did the factory look like? We can start our search there." There wasn't anything Judy wanted more than to have she and her brothers together again. It was evidently meant to be.

Jimmy sighed. "No, they were drugging me with that bitter stuff**(1)** and closing the doors before I could get a good look."

Victor would take more effort to follow than Jimmy; the only lead they had was a plant of sorts. "He must be some place between here and the Campbells'." Unless whomever was leading the wagon that conveyed the three went farther out to deliver Victor before turning back, but Judy was doubtful of this.

"We should head back to the farm, then." Jimmy agreed, though he didn't look thrilled; grim actually.

Judy understood; she didn't want to go back because that meant proceeding closer to home, and both her parents had perished there, creating a veil of darkness and despair in her mind when she thought of the Howlett manor. Who would be running the farm now? Certainly not the maids or the harvesters; they were much too timid. They didn't have any kin but Jimmy and Judy that could take John's or Elizabeth's place. Would the manor be shut down and used for other purposes, or taken up by another wealthy family? If so, Judy hoped another little girl would love and care for her plush animals and dolls as she did herself.

"Let's turn back; retrace our footsteps." Judy said, turning one-eighty degrees and picking up their scents easily.

"Wait." Jimmy fell into step with her, causing her to stop. "Logan could be waiting for us just beyond the bend."

"He isn't."

Jimmy blinked in surprise, not expecting her to go directly against his reasonable suggestion. "How do you know?" 

"I just do." And she did. Nevermind the fact Thomas could have just chased after them when he had the chance, but Judy couldn't sense or smell him anywhere in range of assault, and with her every sense perked for the slightest trigger of danger, she knew she was right. Besides, she wouldn't have stated such a bold declaration of she had the slightest doubt.

Judy headed back the way they came, and Jimmy followed her, wary and doubtful. "Don't you think we should wait for Logan to leave; camp out for the night?"

Judy craned her neck to glance up through the canopy of pine needles trees. The gunmetal sky suggested afternoon, but the nights were growing longer, so Judy couldn't decide whether it was closer to post-midday or evening. Her stomach didn't have a craving; her core actually felt warm, as if her last meal was still digesting. Judy just shook her head. "If he were, we'd know." she inhaled a deep amount of the crisp atmosphere as they wound around a thick trunk. "We took a confusing path besides."

"You're smelling our way back!" Jimmy goggled at her.

She turned to him with a bemused expression. "Yes. Can't you?"

"No." Jimmy mimicked her actions. "I smell you. The rotting wood. Not where we put our feet."

"Well, you can follow our footprints, then." Judy gestured to the light dent in the underbrush.

They were at the point where the trees were sparse enough to see the town through when Jimmy stopped. "They'll recognize me."

Impulsively, Judy closed her eyes and focused on the indistinct pull to her left. That direction was south. Which meant the village was west, and to her right was north. "I know where we're going." she told her brother confidently.

Jimmy tilted his head and quirked an eyebrow, the expression she identified as he would humor her, but only because he hadn't any else to do. She'd show him.

They turned back and went deeper into the forest of pines. They weaved through tree trunks as silently as possible, which wasn't all that silent as every time her feet moved, a dead branch would snap or leaves would rustle.

When Judy approximated them far enough east, she proceeded north, estimating the length it took her to cross the hamlet.

In the middle of their journey around the settlements, Jimmy's stomach started growling. He didn't complain, or acknowledge it verbally. They both ignored it until thirst took toll and each breath scraped at their throats. Neither had packs or water containers, and any sign of water they abandoned at the village, so they couldn't do anything about it.

It was a silent competition; who could withstand the persistent yearn of resources and lead muscles the longest?

They had given up on covering their tracks and just trekked through the foliage without caution. Judy kicked over a bed of leaves and an arachnid the size of her thumb with striped jointed legs scuttled across her toes. Gasping, she fell backwards in her haste to get away, her hand groping behind her to catch her fall and landing in wet, sticky goo.

She realized then they weren't the only inhabitants of these parts, and paid heed to every breath of a hidden creature, switching her focus from her nose to her ears. They made a slower pace because of this; once she finally had the valor to ignore her weariness of the tiny venomous creatures she enjoyed using her senses to experience and discover all sorts of hidden secrets to the wilderness. The sun was long gone by the time they reached their destination.

They found three wagons lingering at the border of the shops after the journey around the town ceased. With Jimmy's help, the two were able to pry open each one with minimal damage. Judy sniffed the interior of each one whilst Jimmy kept watch—virtually unnecessary as it seemed the entire village were asleep. She searched for any trace of her vague memory of the Bellaire manor, but found nothing at resembled it. However, they did steal an empty wineskin and a pack of dried meat. They devoured said jerky, which increased the thirst.

They found a pump near the base of a bakery and quenched themselves before filling the wineskin to the brim.

Another cluster of wagons were at the other side of town, but by the time they found them, Judy was getting antsy. She found herself glancing at the windows of shops, weary for lights to illuminate the darkness and the early risers to catch the twins in the act. She had no clue as to what the time was, and couldn't predict how soon dawn would appear.

The first wagon Judy studied was exactly what they were looking for; it smelt similar to Madam Bellaire's flowery perfume, as well as fruit and salt.

Judy checked the other wagons, and found only the first to have the characteristics that fit the Bellaire Manor. Perhaps the farm needed an extra stock of resources. They hid between two boxes; one of salt and meat, the other of ribbons and cloth.

Now, all there was to do was wait for the chauffeur to take them back to the manor. How would they escape the wagon when the time came, well, Judy was too tuckered to figure that out now that she was safe.

**Ugh, there's a **_**hair **_**in my trail mix...**

**(1) The kids can be drugged because their mutations aren't fully developed yet. Their healing factors aren't as effective as when they're fully grown. **

**I could have had the twins kill Thomas Logan and ended the story there, but I didn't! Anyway, here's the thing: I need to know if the philosophizing and the detailed descriptions and little dialog are driving you all away. Is the content of the story getting boring? I NEED TO KNOW! Don't be shy; tell me!**

…

**Ermahgerd rerverws! Mah fravrit! **

_**Lizeyli, **_I'm thrilled! I'm also relieved that the writing sounds old-fashionedish. I was worried it was too modern at first, because I haven't been reading too many historical fiction books lately (there are so many addicting sy-fy novels I must read _now_!) and writing styles tend to imprint in my brain even after I've finished the book.

_**Alyssana,**_I'm going to narrow down your choices and say nope and nope! Not a wolf, not a huskey. They do fit the descriptions, though... But, Judy's previous lifestyle also has an impact on her personality and stuff (and, maybe, genetics too), so everything about her isn't _totally _from said animal. :) Thanks again for reviewing again!

_**Nick,**_Wherever the story goes, I hope you're pleased with it.

**Thank you to everyone for reading, favoriting, following, reviewing. I acknowledge the value of every word or action of support.**


	7. Scaredy Cat

**No, it's not your failing memory. Yes, the summary is constantly changing. (I just can't keep my paws off it.) (And will continue to tweak it until it satisfies me. The story's content won't change unless I find a typo while rereading.) **

Their senses were on high alert, their breaths quiet and brief, and Judy's eyes were on every opening of the wagon interior; from the doors to the cracks in the wood panels. She blinked, unable to withstand the burn in her eyes.

When her eyes opened again, light leaked into the cabin and it took only a second for her eyes to adjust. Lifting her head off Jimmy's lap, she felt disappointed that she had fallen asleep, yet blessed they hadn't been caught. A single glance told her that Jimmy was conked also, leaning against a wooden crate.

She realized what had aroused her when a shoe scraped gravel outside and the opening of the wagon was torn open angrily. Scrambling awake, she clasped her hand over Jimmy's mouth and they squeezed between a crate and the wall.

Her cheek pressed against the deck as she made herself as small as possible and prevented her shadow from exceeding the size of the crate's.

It seemed like hours as chests were loaded into the wagons, and Judy could feel her heartbeat at her throat and a cold sweat drip down her face. The wagon finally close, but they remained tense and frozen until the horses' hoofbeats and the wheels squeaking against their axles could be heard.

Jimmy sat up, and after a moment's hesitation, so did she. She attempted to stand before the wagon jerked, sending her to the ground. Crawling on hands and knees, she shuffled over to the smallest box, the latest arriving crate. Flipping the lid open, she peered under it, revealing a pair of narrow-bladed shortswords and an extra less elaborate knife, each safely sheathed and pinned atop glossy cloth.

The crate had height, so Judy knew something more was underneath. With care, she gathered all knives in her hands, shivering at the sense of foreboding and power the weapons delivered. Her shoulders flinched when a bump in the road caused her to loosen her grip and a dagger to clatter by her knees.

Jimmy glanced back at her curiously from his place across the room, where he was also peering under a box lid. She shook her head flippantly, and he continued to sift around the contents of the chest.

Judy wrapped the weapons securely in the cloth, then removed the thin layer of wood separating the knives and whatever else was within the crate—conveniently, a double-shoulder baldric belt that kept the scabbards at her back.

Recalling the limited foot range her skirts gave her while running, the twigs they snagged and the filth that caked the trimming, she holstered all the weaponry that the slings could contain but one, and sawed off her petticoat to the knee, then slitted the skirt for a better range of motion. Next, after a brief hesitation, sawed off her hair (unevenly) and stared regretfully at the neither-brown-nor-auburn tangled clump, wondering if her mother was watching her in dismay from wherever she wound up.

Judy herself could not complain for the dissatisfactory hue. Though she could no longer tell the difference between crimson or brown or black, she could clearly make out the clods melding strands of coarse hair to one another like a bead through multiple strings. She tucked the mop under the box lid, disgusted.

Sheathing the last blade and then slipping the slings over her shoulders, she felt a bit of apprehension ease, for now she could defend herself if needed, though would need to accustom herself to reaching over her shoulder for the hilt of one blade, and behind her waist for the other.

After making a couple adjustments to the cincture length, she unbuckled the holster on her front, and made her way around the maze of crates to her brother. His eyebrows rose at her new fashion statement, but he had the sense not to say much about it. In reward, she handed him the extra dagger. She watched him tug it out; test the weight.

He studied her gift, brooding at it almost, and in turn she stared at him curiously. Did he have a problem with it? Did he find it offensive? His voice was gravelly when he finally answered. "Why?" he wasn't looking at her when he spoke, instead gazing the foreign engravings carved deeply into the metal, so she assumed he was asking everyone in general.

Yes. Why were they the ones chosen to walk this path? Why was everything taken from them so harshly; so abruptly? Why did Judy know so little about herself, her kin, that everything she uncovers is so overwhelming a moment of peace and memory loss would be a fantasy? Why couldn't they be normal?

The silence between them was expectant somehow, and when their eyes met, she realized she missed the concept of his question.

She echoed, "Why?"

"Why did you follow us?" Jimmy's tone was so sad. Regretful. "You knew we weren't ever going back."

And she did, though not consciously. Perhaps this was part of the push that had her running to (_with_) them.

But she still had to muse. Avoiding a life as a high-class woman in preference as an abnormal freak, these were all selfish reasons, and she could possibly hurt her brother by stating her motives. However, these were not the singular rationales.

She never really did truly view herself as a wench heiress. Though young, the girls she met equal to her previous status were single-minded, vain and sycophants just like their mothers. Judy preferred to view herself above them for her different interests and they her.

But the sense of disappointment about her mother that Judy often caught when she refused to associate with the other wenches caused doubt to bud in her mind, influencing her to glance back at the ballroom and wonder if there was something wrong with her, if her mental state was misshapen. So she would go back to search in vain for that sense of belonging in society, never realizing she couldn't ever grasp it.

As her lips parted to form what she hoped was a coherent response, the wagon skidded to a halt. The horses' hooves dug so deeply into the ground as momentum sustained, Judy knew it must've been painful.

The wagon jerked and the twins were thrown into the wall, the lighter crates sliding after. Jimmy positioned himself between Judy and the luggage, wincing as contact was made, but otherwise emerged unharmed.

As the interior of the vehicle settled, voices outside became intelligible, growing in volume before receding; the conveyors were passing the Howletts to reach the entrance of the vehicle.

Jimmy seemed to have a similar idea. He grasped her hand and they both stood on their feet. He looked ready to dart out the second the second the chance presented itself.

Judy considered suggesting they stay and hide again, but knew there was a high possibility the men would enter the wagon.

She listened to them, the firmer voice scolding the feeble for leaving the special order of Arkansas toothpicks in the trunk. She glanced guiltily at her weapons however convinced she was that would need them more than they their employment.

As soon as the gap of sunlight was wide so that swift escape was feasible but narrow so the conveyors wouldn't catch an early warning of their presence, Jimmy and Judy had leapt off the platform and were sprinting as expeditiously as their muscles would allow.

And then she was being chased _again_, wondering if this was the only factor in her life that wouldn't change. They strayed the path, delving into the thick of trees until they tired and Jimmy ordered her to scale one.

"What about you?" she gasped. She was so out of breath she felt as if a too deep an inhale would trigger nausea. She couldn't hear their pursuers, but knew they were going to scour the woods when they found what she stole.

"I'll be fine on my own." Jimmy replied, holding up a box of French matches; what he had taken from a crate. He glanced around them nervously; they had stood still for too long. He passed her the piece of cardboard and ran off.

Knowing best not to follow, she hurtled in another direction, taking random turns on whims. When she spotted a sturdy tree with a low, supportive branch, began to ascend. High and higher she went, forming patterns and pleased with the progress she was making until her muscles shook and the trunk had become flimsy.

And there she waited, resting in the crook of the bole and a bough, practically trembling in anticipation, not near familiar with these types of situations and straining her ears so hard they ring.

She waited and waited, still as a stone, but no one sought her out. The sky dimmed, and slowly, warily, she started to relax. Only then was she aware of the thirst; she glanced around for water before it dawned that she must have forgotten the wineskin in the wagon!

She wanted to curse, but she's a lady so she couldn't.

Her tailbone ached for sitting so long, and her joints cracked and popped as she changed position. She carefully descended, finding it more challenging going down than up; more than once a supporting tree limb would prove to be too flimsy and would scare her out of her wits. So focused was she on this task of not shifting her weight to the next branch until she was sure it was sturdy that she didn't hear the footfalls of her hunters' until a leaf crunched a few meters away.

Judy froze like a comical rabbit motionless in terror, then jumped the last length down—a moment of nothing in which her insides disappeared—and then she was gasping at the prickle of pain through her ankles and up her calves as she landed. Too much noise she had made that the man came running.

She launched off the peak of a root jutting out through the dirt and ran, taking no heed for stealth.

Around her the scenery faded blurry, and though how hard she tried, she couldn't reach the speed she had that night Thomas Logan displayed his true colors—but the run still would have been exhilarating if she weren't so worried.

There was a _crack! _and a bullet rebounded off the ground near her feet; much too close for comfort. She leapt back in surprise, nearly losing her footing. It wasn't long before another blur of insipid cupronickel buzzed by her hip. The final _crack!_ had her face on the dirt.

There was a moment of confusion in which she had nothing to trip over and was convinced he had missed. So why… she glanced over her shoulder as she struggled to stand, and caught a glimpse of the blood cascading down her calf.

It was if that single discernment had disintegrated the dam that had kept the injury from reaching her brain, allowing the searing pain to collide with her consciousness. The scream, seemingly torn involuntarily through her lungs, not only alerted her presence but worsened the ache of her parched throat as well; though a mere itch compared to the anguish of the torn tissue in her leg.

Fear numbed the pain slightly, allowing her to drag herself back, until her elbows scraped against the rugged tree bark when the burly conveyer burst into sight; firearm in clutched in one fingerless glove and a grinchly grin on his lips.

He grew near, and she knew there was no point in running. Her every inhale a gasp, every exhale a whimper, incapable of walking or climbing, any attempt at escape would earn another bullet through her flesh. She could gradually feel the blood slow its flow down the groundly path, but knew she would eventually have to dig the slug from her calf before the muscle healed around it, and there was little chance of that procedure occurring while her pursuer was towering over her.

He lowered his weapon upon realizing the enemy was a mere girl, but remained intimidating with a scowl and wide frame. He said gruffly, "You've got something o'mine," and lifted his arm, as if to strike her.

She cringed, her lips thinning over her gums, a screeching growl ringing deep within her throat.

A raised eyebrow was his response, but he didn't pull his hand back; instead reaching farther and grasping her badric. In a moment of dementia—he was touching her!—her eyeteeth closed around the boney part of his wrist.

Yelling, the man jerked back his elbow, taking her with him and probably loosening a few of her teeth. As she leaned forward, desperately trying to keep a grip on her prey, weight was forced upon her leg and the jarring pain was enough to clear her head. She released him, only to crack her head against the tree as she scrambled away from the barrel of the gun that was suddenly aimed between her eyes.

"Freak." The man spat as blood splurted and dribbled down his forearm. What would be of her brain with a bullet in it?

His finger hovered over the trigger, and her heart drummed within her, racing too fast yet skipping beats at the same time because she would—she was—

Cornered. Trapped. They had murderous devices in their hands, and they would hurt her.

A dusky haze rimmed her vision, freakish because it was crimson in color, and her heart rate spiked even more because _she couldn't see._

_She couldn't hear. _Her heartbeat was too loud, too. Din rang in her ears, and the red closed in until everything was red, red, red. She felt the red fire on her skin, she could hear it, and it was all she could see.

It faded abruptly, though she couldn't rid her ears of the ringing, and her fingers and face were sticky. The man's neck was bloody as well, and he lay motionless at her feet, his gun yards away, rotating on its side to a standstill.

Hyperventilating, she backed away, around the tree and through the underbrush until the corpse was out of sight- but she could still see him: when her lids slid over her eyes and when she looked to the ground because her memory was caught up with her mind. She saw herself lunge at the man, felt the crack that was so loud it rattled her bones before the bullet entered her body. Heard the gun clank against the adjacent trunk as she knocked it away. Felt the relief as her teeth sunk into his jugular, and his head thud where his feet should have been.

She relished the punishing burn of her gunshot wounds as she stumbled away from the nightmare, though escape was impossible, for the first kill would always be there, lingering like the aftertaste of morphine.

_**Lizeyli, **__When I first read your review, I went to my laptop and started writing, just because you told me to. (The influence of reviewer on writer) So why didn't I update sooner? Answer: fluff. Fun to read, pain to write. I was stumped. You'll find out what happened to Jimmy later, but hopefully the fluff I wrote here is enough. There will be fluff in later chapters; this is in the 'family' category, after all (so Victor's density is tightly entwined with his siblings'. Hurray!). _

_Fox? I don't think those are colorblind. Dog? Nope. Raccoon? Good idea; creative, but no. Cat? I'm aiming for something more unique. (However… you are moving forward with that raccoon) _

_Thanks for the thoughtful review! You rock! _

**Are these review responses taking up too much space? Would you rather they be sent via PM? Any criticism? Is there a scene you would like to see? Did I get a fact wrong? Tell me in the review box below! I'll notice it right away. **


	8. Perilous Flame

She wasn't sure where she was, how far she walked. Her eyes were blurred, directed to the floor as she stepped over obstacles without really seeing them.

It was soon dark, so she sat at the base of a tree. Her wounds had ceased their flow of blood, the pain had lessened to a sting and a throb of agitation when the muscle shifted, and the grime and gore covered them like a second skin.

It was cold, and the chill nipped at her vulnerable neck and legs. She curled in on herself, falling onto her side.

That man she murdered, she didn't even know his name or anything about him. Would his biography ease the pain? She wasn't sure, because now her mind wandered upon all possibilities, every one possible, plausible.

Did he have children? A daughter that would wait for him at their manor, worrying for his return, missing his protective presence? Or a wife, curled upon a cold mattress, dependent on his support? Mourning for him until she killed herself. Perhaps he even had a sister, a twin, who had him by her side even before either had entered the world, who would now have to endure a lifetime in his absence.

All because of Judy. Judy the Monster. Judy the Sadist.

She pressed her palms to her eyes and wept for the dead.

Her mother used to tell her if she shed tears before bedtime nightmares would plague her dreams, therefore had never sobbed herself to slumber, but this night was an expectation—if she could ever fall asleep ever again.

After she was empty of tears, she felt more alert; more awake. Acutely aware of her dehydrated body, she began to search for water, lifting her nose to catch the breeze that carried as much information as a newspaper would. The dank scent of musty stones and fishy marsh bells wafted from her right—west.

Ironically, she wasn't glancing over her shoulder every two seconds or starting at every noise made that wasn't her own. The world was different in darkness; more peaceful, simpler and clearer. No sun was present in the above world to blind her and reflect off objects in ways that turned her vision cloudy with whiteness. The moon, a crescent fraction darker than the sky itself, glowed at a perfect volume that dappled the trees around her though the pine leaves stretching above, creating dull silver patterns on her skin and illuminated her surroundings. Every fragment of the forest was a starkly different shade of gray than any other object, allowing her to pick out the flippant attributes with minimal effort. Night was beautiful, but childhood phobias of death and ax-murders kept the weight on her chest from the darkness sliding it off.

When running water and its pure scent had reached her nose and filled her mouth like a physical liquid, she started to run. In a blink, she was kneeling atop a mud bank and splashing her blood-ridden hands into the stream. It tasted filthy, like things she didn't want to imagine, yet sweet on her tongue and refreshing down her throat.

She washed her hands, feet and face, but refrained from bathing as the temperature was dropping rapidly by the minute.

She shivered at the burning chill of the flesh not protected by her petticoat, albeit not it was enough suffering to regret trimming her clothing. She curled her feet under her, and sat on the hem of her skirt, forcing it to slide down her waist and her tunic to stretch over it. Comfortable it was not. She could feel the itch of grime under her as she imagined bugs crawling over her skin; the tingle of filthy, tangled hair however short it was; the lingering stiffness of evaporated sweat on her tunic and the crust on her eyes that she was afraid to wipe away in fear that her eyes would become infected with the dirt on her fingers.

So she stilled, listening to the forest breathe. And waiting. Waiting for Jimmy maybe, or sunrise. As her muscles began to lose their share of blood, she stood, removing the pack of matches from her pocket. She gritted her teeth to keep from chattering, slipping her fingers under her armpits in hopes of the appendages regaining feeling.

She struggled to remember how her father had set fire to the brick fireplaces as she walked the length of the stream. He had piled the timber like _this… _She ventured not far from the water, collecting snapped twigs from the forest floor as she went, and then stacked the wood so they balanced upon one another.

With stiff fingers she unclasped the lid of the match box before scraping a stick off the side. What she didn't expect was the blindingly white spark and the hiss of sizzling cardboard. The tip of the match exploded into a pulp of light, illuminating her skin to gold.

Gasping, she jumped to her feet and the flame was extinguished along its descent as she shook it from her fingers; not by snow as there was none, it would be a dry winter this year.

She paced, disgusted and horrified at the sight of such a perilous encounter. She wrung out her fingers, recollecting the matchstick that she had previously touched and shuddered to imagine what could have occurred had the flame had graced her skin.

When the gelid atmosphere began to numb her appendages again, her resolve started to dissolve and she decided that if she were burnt, she would heal; all daunting tasks she would recover from.

She rearranged the fallen timber and lit the match, bracing herself for the jolt of panic the light would overwhelm her senses, suppressing the instinct to drop it and run.

She tipped the fire to the wood and blew it out when it caught. Scrambling away, she watched in daunt and fascination as the white light grew until a meager fire was willowing to the music of nature.

Smoke filled her senses, seeming to clog her throat with filth. With shallow breaths, she crept by and held out her palms, relishing the warmth that seeped beneath her flesh.

A time later, a breeze, harsher than the blows before it, whipped the lick of flame away from her so it touched the forest debris, spreading like oil. It all happened so abruptly, so fast, it seemed as if the rest of the world had slowed down.

Terror paralyzed her muscles, leaving her helpless and to watch as foliage caught aflame, heating her face and radiating smog that, when inhaled, forced her lungs to convulse in hacking gags that awoke her brain, so her legs were running in the opposite direction without her consultant.

She couldn't catch the scent of water, but remembered the direction of the stream, nevertheless her body refused to head in that direction as she would have turn back and careen around the flame to reach it.

She could feel the warmth press against her back like a blanket, drawing sweat to her skin and dehydrating her mouth so it stuck to her tongue. She scaled a fallen tree, sliding down it easily and wrenched the cloth of her skirt from its clutches. She met a thick of bramble, leafless, with root-like vines and turned around to find another trail, facing the direction she came. Smog seeped from trunks supporting naked branches, and the prominent white of a spreading wildfire flickered as it swelled, consuming everything in its path.

It was far away now by at least two chains away, but she had not outrun it yet, as it was growing quickly. With the distance between them, she could feel calm slow her heart and allow her to think clearly.

She crossed her hands under her shoulders to unsheathe the knives. It was obvious the short swords weren't designed for hacking away vegetation, with thin, double-edged blades and short hilts, but her choices were limited and she'd rather dull the daggers with this task than to risk her life (would she rise from the ashes as Jimmy supposedly achieved? She could still feel the faint nagging at her leg and side; the possibility was meager) to conserve the bite of the blades.

_Jimmy. _She hadn't spared him a single thought in her escape. His nose wasn't as acute as hers; he might not be able to sense the danger in time. Maybe he could survive the flame, but that didn't mean she wanted him hurt. How would a second death affect him?

There wasn't anything she could do to help him if she hadn't an idea where he had run off to, and it wasn't logical to turn back in search of her brother when he could just as well be far from the flames.

If he was asleep, would the smog and crackle of burning trees arouse him? Jimmy had sense in him; he would run in the opposite direction. She pushed her concerns of her brother out of her mind and focused on the concerns of herself instead; that held more importance.

She brought the toothpick in her left hand down on a thinner branch, and it was chopped off. She kicked it out of her path and worked away the others, some wood she had to saw down, which consumed too much time as the heat behind her was increasing rapidly and it wasn't her imagination. She felt panic blur her thoughts and again smoke forced her to pause and sneeze, her grip loosening on one of the hilts. She swung blindly; it fell out of her grip and into the tangle of vegetation.

There was no use in groping for it as smoke was quickly blackening the dark night and bringing tears to her eyes. Instinctively, she dropped to the ground, relieved to find fresher oxygen to breathe. Gripping her last blade tighter between her fingers and palm, she crawled into the dent she had created in the obstacle; bringing down everything in her path would cost time she couldn't afford, but there was a possibility she could escape the inferno, maybe find another body of water, if she squeezed through the thick of thorns.

She squirmed under a limb of a separate plant, resting her one knee atop a fork that split the trunk of the bush and the other over on the flimsy end. Unable to support her weight, the net of branches snapped, and her knees hit the ground. Victorious at the room this gave her, she pulled the rest of her body through the narrow gap of boroughs. Over the crackling of the blaze, she could hear the tear of fabric as thorns caught her clothing, and the blood that dripped down her skin, but could not find the sting of sliced flesh, so paid it no heed.

Once out and on her feet, she was running again, hopping over anything without tripping. A strip of fabric hung loose from her sleeve, so she ripped it off as to prevent it from catching bark of thorns. What was left of her hair—not even seven inches—stuck to the gunk on her cheeks and forehead, and on her lips, but she ignored it until it flicked at her eyes, hampering her vision and encouraging the burn.

She shook her head, her focus on the placement of her footing wavering. Her foot caught and she sprawled on the forest floor once more. Because she had caught herself with her elbows as she still gripped the dagger in her left hand, the tip of the toothpick was pushed under the skin of her cheek and drove through the flesh to her temple. By the scraping noises it emitted as it reached her skull, Judy knew it had nicked her cheek bone.

She immediately yanked the knife away from her face, listening to skin tear as gore gushed into her eye, across her cheek, through her lips, down her chin. There was so much of it, yet the throb was dull under the rush of panic and blinding light of flame and its darkness of ash. She spared a glance over her shoulder as she hefted herself upright, gasping at the proximity of the underbrush she had recently squirmed through erupt into smog and heat.

The expanse of conflagration had widened greatly, crossing wherever the wind lead it, allowing the firestorm to reach three fathoms west, and at least four east. When she felt the breeze strengthen and blow the ash and smoke directly into her face, she knew there wasn't any way she could outrun it now when she was so out of breath her inhales caused coughs and turned her throat to sandpaper so she couldn't even take a satisfying breath and the smoke had blackened her vision so she was tripping every other step.

She couldn't run anymore, so she crawled on her knees, where the air was only slightly clearer and she could feel the stones and tree limbs below her. Where could she go now? Bright white flame taunted her at every corner of her line of sight where blackness didn't; all she could hear was the roar of blood pulsing through her veins and the laughter of the heat burning her clothing.

A thick drowsiness placed heavy weights upon her eyelids and muscles until she could no longer support herself. Light shone into her eyes, so she screwed them shut, feeling as if her eyelids were scraping against her eyes, but suddenly finding it effortless to ignore the stinging of charred flesh and the inferno about her when she couldn't see.

Her grip on the dagger slackened and it was only then she realized that she was giving up life to the threat again. When her blade slipped from her fingers, she snatched it back, but at the wrong end as the edges of the metal dug into her palm, slicing it with a mess of blood that felt cool in contrast to the blaze closing in around her.

She gripped the hilt of the knife, and pushed her torso up so she was capable of crawling. It took more effort than it should have; she felt as if her body had turned as stiff and heavy as iron. Her body seemed to be giving up, but the animal within reared its head and urged her to keep moving.

When she tucked in her legs, she found one with charred, black flesh, sparse areas of pink skin healing the damage. She gasped in disgust through her mouth, and immediately fell into a violent coughing, gagging up what was left in her stomach. Acidic bile pinched her tongue and she spat it out.

Boulders wouldn't catch fire, she reasoned, making progress slithering away from the flames, barely breathing and keeping her eyes squinted. The world was perilous without sight or smell. The only direction she knew was away. When her fingers became stiff from gripping the hilt so tightly and her knuckles raw and achy, she alternated hands so the opposite clutched the dagger. Pebbles wedged themselves into the (now shallow) cut across her palm, throbbing when it was pressed to a tree root.

Pebbles. She felt around for more, and indeed there they were. She switched the knife to the other hand again, following the trail. They were sparse, but there hadn't been any back where the fire had started.

Eventually, the rocks became larger and giant boulders at the base of what she assumed to be a cliff piled to created gaps between. She squeezed through a cave, about two feet high and three wide, feeling the water lining the rock walls, hoping no other animals occupied the den.

She did come across dead roaches, but as she squirmed farther in, discovered no hibernating creatures. The cave was just deep enough that she could fit her feet in if she bent her knees, and the air was damp, but it was easier to breathe than outside.

She lifted the collar of her tunic to cover her mouth and nose. It was damp with sweat, filtering the air as she took a refreshing breath. As her heartbeat slowed, she became aware of the burn at her calf, shoulder and hip. The cut on her face still prevented her from seeing clearly through her right eye, but the bleeding had cut down, though it throbbed and her cheek ached as her throat did. When she lifted her hand to her face, her eye picked up the reflected light and she was allowed to study the filthy appendage, black with dried blood. She wondered if her accelerated healing would prevent infections.

She folded her arm and lay her head down, wondering if Jimmy was alright, where Victor was, how her brothers were faring. She counted her heartbeats as she waited for the fire to cease, her lungs feeling sweaty as she inhaled beneath her shirt. She dabbed the gore from her eye, careful not to touch the wound, and gazed at her palm as it mended itself behind the grime that coated it.

When the pain faded, she found it safe to rub off the dirt with her fingernails. Raw, pink skin appeared below it; she was safe from infection and therefore amputation.

The smoke had lifted, she registered, whiffing the air. The scent of fire was still heavy, but not as strong as it would be if it were directly behind her.

She remained still as the smog dissolved, guessing the conflagration had been snuffed out. She backed out of her den by her elbows, ducking her head until her nose brushed the dirt.

She stood, adjusting the shortened sleeves and burnt clothing. The forest had thinned considerably. The entire area the fire had consumed was ash and white powder, the ground covered in black dust. Many of the blackened timber had fallen, and the ones standing were covered in cinder, looking empty as merely trunks as the branches had burnt away.

And it was all her doing. She had lit the first match, had run when the fire became overwhelming. Her irresponsibility had led to the destruction of a forest inhabiting thousands of creatures; not only was she a murderer to humans, but plants and animals.

All dead because of Judy. Judy the Monster. Judy the Sadist.

She couldn't help but feel the hopeless of the situation, as if every decision she made would lead to death of those around her.

Perhaps she should have allowed Thomas Logan kill her. If she were to find joy and discoveries in this world, she sure didn't deserve them.

Or if she'd just stayed home. No, her abilities would have surfaced otherwise, and she would still hurt others who even raised their voice; she couldn't control her animal, it had a primal mind of its own.

It was all her fault, the animal's. It had taken lives while conserving her own, creating abnormal growth and interfering with her thoughts. But that wasn't right, either; the animal was part of her, perhaps born from the trauma or genetic relation to Thomas Logan.

If the animal was to blame, she was too.

She walked the distance of the haunted forest, feeling so alone with the animal still guiding her south. She ignored it as best she could and headed east, back the way she came.

**Paradox Predator, **The badger was considered, but I didn't want Judy to be fearless. Thanks for the review, it really brightened my day. I'm delighted that you enjoyed it, because there were times where I wasn't sure if a scene would please the crowd.

**Lizeyli, **Red pandas are adorable, especially their cubs! I just want to snuggle with one. That would have been a good choice, but it isn't the correct one. The red panda is nocturnal, as Judy is, but she and her animal will be notorious for their bite. (Read the last review response if you want to the answer)

**belladu57, **Thanks for reading! It's what I'm hoping for. ;)

**J.T.'s A.X,** You guessed it! Judy is a {SPOILER}...

Tasmanian devil! Congratulations! Now everyone is aware of this endangered species and can donate to their cause!

**Now that y'all know who Judy is, who is Thomas Logan?**


	9. Screaming Banshees

_Recap: Jimmy, Judy and Victor are separated when turned in by the Campbells. Victor is supposedly working at a factory, Judy is a orphan maid at the Bellaire manor and Jimmy is executed. Jimmy survives and saves Judy from Thomas Logan. They run, are separated and Judy is cornered by a human conveyor, who she kills with her developing split personality, 'the animal within.' Judy ignites a forest fire is distraught at the damage. _

Soil wriggled between her toes, grainy like sand yet pulverizing like ash. Trees were thin and she expected one to collapse upon her any second. Dark embers of aftermath glowed beneath char, emitting blurs of smog, posing no threat.

The scene ended with a faded seam; the black powder growing sparse until the forest fire was behind her.

The conflagration wasn't as expansive as she had expected while trapped on the ground, but that didn't make it okay. Walking through the consequences of her actions had made her want to run or do something to escape, but she knew she deserved this so she didn't.

The knife at her back seemed to weigh more than she herself; her steps were agonizingly slow as her eyes searched for signs of life or activity, but she seemed to have killed everything. Charred remains of small animals and large trees designed ugly faces at her with the lines of pink embers and gaping flesh where the ashes did not extend, and the longer she gazed the darker their expressions became, as if reflecting their recognition and accusation. She stopped looking at anything but the horizon, but she could still see snarled lips and droopy eyes in her peripheral vision.

…

Stepping past the seam between the ashes and the living wasn't as refreshing as she expected. The heaviness within her bones didn't change in the slightest even when the blackness had disappeared behind healthy vegetation.

She ceased her aimless trail when a faint crunch and rustle of soil emitted behind her. It sounded again, uneven beats and shifting of debris. Footsteps, light graces of bare feet yet with the unevenness of a male.

Tipping her head to gather the scents the animal, her brain gathered the faintest trace of herbs, the odor only a human carried without any sense of concealment for survival and the contradicting musk of a four-legged mammal.

The beats of footfalls grew louder, growing in pace as they neared. She didn't move, just waited as a humanoid silhouette took detail in the light of dawn.

"Judy!" Jimmy called when he was within his own earshot distance. "There was a fire, I'd thought— your hair is burnt!"

Judy grasped a chunk of her hair from the back of her head. The ends were coarser than usual and crumbled with pressure between her digits. "Oh." she mumbled; she wasn't as upset by it as she should have been. She gathered it in her hands and rubbed off the charred portions, so the back was as close to her head as Jimmy's was and what framed her face was very irregular.

Jimmy looked at her with concerned anxiety and she met his eyes in question. He swiped his thumb across her cheek and she stepped back in surprise, before catching sight of the dark smudges marring the clear complexion of the digit. Judy's face was smeared in the cinders and she hadn't even noticed.

"Those conveyors!" Jimmy said angrily. "They probably meant to kill us with a forest fire when they couldn't catch us!"

Judy refocused on her brother with shock. He'd automatically assumed the best of her, even though he himself had given her the fire starters. Perhaps he didn't know her as well as she'd thought. Did he not notice the changes in her demeanor? Were there even any shifts of her manner? She wasn't about to deny him his assumption, though.

"We need to find Victor." she interjected. "He doesn't know Logan's alive."

"I'd been thinking about that." Jimmy added, his attention diverted. "We were just able to fend him off the first time. If we had Victor with us, we'd be able to get him off our trail for good. But if he finds Victor first…"

Judy gasped, looking west where only trunks stood as far as the eyes could see. "We must head back now!" She strode in the direction of the wagon trail, building speed as Jimmy appeared beside her.

The sun had crossed the horizon and peered through the cracks between dark clouds when they found the worn path. They followed it until it split and Judy had to sniff the dusty ground several times to detect the wagon they escaped from. It wasn't pleasant; at first whiff all she could register was the revolting fetor of herbivorous waste. She knew there was an underlying scent beneath, so she focused on the sweeter fragrance of wood on both sections of the fork.

She compared them, and found that one was mustier and worn while the other was fresher. The worn wagon was used often, and for longer trips and heavier loads as she deciphered by the faint decay it wore. The other wagon was younger, fresher and had experienced a meager distance though its existence; and by the tracks, its wheels were quite thin.

Bellaire's vehicle conveyed delicacies and they were quite wealthy. Most likely, the younger wagon was the one they owned, and if she followed the path, would find the manor.

Progress was slow, and there wasn't any trace of mud or water along the way. Both Howletts refused to rest, and by mid-day were shaking of thirst and exhaustion. Almost nothing was spoken between them, for breath was hard to pull in as it was and vocal words were of little use.

When they came across a fallen tree, Judy inspected its age to determine whether it had collapsed before or after the wagon passed. The holes nested the carcasses of insects and the inner wood was exposed where the outer layers of bark had been ripped off and produced a similar scent to decaying leaves. The trunk had been there for a month at least, so the twins inspected the area around it until Jimmy came across flattened underbrush and snapped twigs where the wagon circumvented the obstruction.

Rather than meet the course on the other side, the wagon kept plowing through saplings and left depressions in accumulations of autumn blades in the adjacent direction until it joined a new pathway; one not completely clear of budding plants and littered under leaves.

The trees began to disperse before back of the Bellaire manor was finally visible against the twilight lighting. People, maids, gardeners, tenders ambled about the manor grounds. Jimmy and Judy remained out of view, where woodland vegetation was thick enough to conceal their presence, waiting for the area to clear and the sky to darken before they ventured for the paths they would retrace.

The world darkened and Judy's world focused in detail while synchronously simplifying.

When they were sure the residents in the House of Bellaire were under slumber, the Howletts crossed the cobblestones and blanketed their persons in the shadow of the outer partitions of the stables and the contiguous wall of the manor.

Judy stepped out of the darkness, eyes fixed on the gate and shrubs extending around the front the manor, creating the stealthiest route amongst the solidest shadows before the moon. They'd have to keep under the western side of the structure, before the moon climbed too high east and shrunk its contours.

She grasped her brother's shoulder as she rose from her crouched position, intending to guided him into the nook one of the manor's porches created, a seclusion Jimmy probably hadn't noticed with poorer eyesight, but his fingers closed around her wrist before she could forward a step.

"We don't know for how long this trek will last. It could take days in the woods to reach Victor's factory." His murmurs were so soft, his lips slurred the whispered words. "We should prepare." _I'm thirsty, _the undertone implied (or perhaps it was just her), but it was still a logical request.

"Me too." Judy mumbled. She clasped her brother's hand and zig-zagged across the yard, under carriages and alcoves until they reached the landing of the back door porch steps. Framed by brackets and mounted above stairs, the sheltered platform housed a delicate circular tea table oblivious to rain and snow to come.

The door was sturdy and locked, but secure shutters of the window adjacent to the doorframe loomed before the tea table. Behind the shutters were glass panes, modern kitchen implements near the sill. Judy saw no humanoid figures lurking within sight as she gazed through the farthest angles the frame would allow.

"It's the kitchen," she breathed, feeling blessed. However, when she attempted to lift the window pane, discovered it locked. Jimmy also struggled with it as Judy crept along the exterior walls of the house, searching for paneless windows or apertures. She didn't want to venture too far and the shuttered openings she discovered were too small to squeeze through.

When Judy returned, Jimmy wasn't where she'd left him. She hugged the walls as her head ducked to peer over the edges of the house along the porch deck, but there wasn't any trace of her twin's form. However, his scent was fresh along the western house partition, so she trailed it until she spied his hunched figure on the cobblestone road. Albeit in the shadow of a carriage, he was in the open on a main road under the large front windows of the manor.

Judy felt horror well within her as Jimmy's foolishness presented itself, when he'd done so well of staying silent, doing as told and merely following her obediently as she led the two to their destination.

_Jimmy _following _Judy. _This was entirely improper and Elizabeth would have fit if she knew how officiously and disdainfully Judy had treated Jimmy, who was heir to the Howlett fortune and business, as well as the brother half of her, which gave him superiority and her submission.

But _Judy _had better direction and perspective. Besides, she personally knew her brother, and though they'd both hardened during the last few days considerably (as Victor wished), Jimmy wasn't one to feel inferior to.

Noticing the pressure of her gaze, Jimmy grasped an object near his feet before straightening his knees and shoulders to attention. Judy vigorously gestured for him to come back and groaned inwardly when he jogged directly to her, crossing the yard and window view.

Fortunately the distance between them wasn't protracted, and she could see the puff of his breath through his nose and the dilation of his dark eyes which she knew to be brown as he neared.

She pulled him to the porch and checked the kitchen window before rounding on him, hissing, "What were you doing, in sight of all? A bedroom's window was right by your head; you could have been caught." Her tone was harsh and greatly accusatory, and though his lips were closed, she saw his jaw close. Judy remembered how a firm scolding from John would reduce him to tears. She knew he didn't respect her as he did their step-father, but he never enjoyed being told he was wrong, as he would typically over-think his decisions.

"The window is locked. We'll have to break the glass." He offered a smooth stone slightly larger than her fist, with blunted edges and a narrowed side. It vaguely resembled a teardrop. "I had to dig this out of the dirt."

For a moment, Judy was shocked at his villainous suggestion, for glass pane replacements were dreadfully expensive and Jimmy wouldn't dare unnecessarily touch his mother's tea china. Then her parched throat throbbed as she swallowed as a tug in her gut make her fantasize steak. She would break a window, if it meant survival.

But it didn't justify Jimmy's irresponsibility. "You're wanted! You've devil horns and a tail on your posters!" She realized her volume had begun to rise, and paused to shift it. "Even if you weren't James Howlett, a figure lurking around the house I stayed would have you executed."

The muscles around the boy's eyes tightened. "Logan. You'll refer to me as Logan now." To her surprise, he reacted calmly to his titles, as if he already knew. Or already accepted himself to the people's designations.

Thomas Logan was alive, so he had no reason to hold on to it. "You're adopting the name of our hunter?"

"Logan is better than the devil's name!" Jimmy cried, and her hands jerked up to silence him, but his fingers appeared there first. Regaining control, he continued. "And I'll deserve whatever I have coming."

"Jimmy—_Logan_," she stressed as he scowled. "The_ real _devil is Thomas Logan. He killed Father and let Mother kill herself."

"He's the lesser of two evils. _I _set everything in motion. Before—before everything I confronted him because he hit Victor and told him to stop or I'd tell Father." His anger seemed to melt as remorse took its place and words spilled like blood. "He was drunk. He bit me and I got sick, but before that I told him the reason Mother or the maids never went on garden strolls was because they hated him like Victor does. I didn't know and I started saying all the mean things I could think of, like how everyone feared his anger and he was only employed of it. He was so mad and said I was just describing my future self. He attacked, but Victor was there and we ran back inside. After supper he came in with his gun."

When Jimmy's voice began to wobble, Judy reached out, but he wasn't done. "At the stake, when I was burned, they cursed me. Stated I'd drown forever in misery and hate, lose everyone." He finally met her gaze, but his was stony. "It's started. I'm killing _everything_. I killed the priest and the attendees, and it hurts every time. _I couldn't stop. _It's as if I'm already in hell."

In her mind's eye, Judy saw the slackened eyelids of the man she murdered and the blaze of the fire she initiated. She supposed she wasn't any more worse off than her brother, but she doubted admitting to her crimes would improve his mood.

She studied his guilt-ridden expression and dead eyes, and realized he _was _actually worse off. Every death he felt as he did his own, and every crime committed by their biological sire he suffered in his nightmares. While she did drag the weight of her kills, they didn't cut as deep as her brother's. He was cursed to carry the trifolded weights of his wrongs as well as her weights and Victor's and Thomas Logan's for the rest of his existence.

And so she didn't have anything to say to him. She couldn't tell him his regret would redeem his crimes, or that it was proof of the light within him. Nothing she could say would be the truth or revive the spark that once widened his eyes. This wasn't a curse they could undo, and all he could do was avoid infraction in the future.

But— "I'm still calling you my brother." His expression shifted to incredulous, and she ignored it. "I'll never be ashamed of you, Logan, Jimmy. I know who you were and I know who you are." This curse didn't seem to have much to do with Judy, as her life seemed to fall apart all by her own mistakes long before her brother was damned. "You're my family, so I have to protect you. And you have to do what I tell you." Feeling confident and wise with her words, and boosted by Jimmy's grateful face, she concluded with an order to the glass pane's demise.

It was loud. The first time Jimmy brought down the thick side of the stone, a white dent appeared, hairline cracks spiraling center-outward and a resounding _boom _seemed to echo into the boarding woods as minuscule flecks of white dust clinked to the ground and scattered across the wood planks. Judy's hands were automatically pressed to her ears; she quickly dropped them, however, and motioned for Jimmy to still as she listened.

Willing the ringing to cease, she grasped the faintest of sounds which did not originate from she or her brother, repeated it in increased volume within her head, studied it and dismissed it as the sounds of slumber. The hitched snores of a man, the sighs of young lungs and snorts of horses.

Her eyes opened to indicate for Jimmy's continuance. She lost count of the amount of times it took for the pane to shatter, but after the web of cracks had spread to the frame, formed loose circles and Jimmy turned his stone to its narrow end, striking the center before pausing for Judy to detect

No one seemed to stir or step down the stairs when the glass finally shattered; it was a spacious house after all. The crash was several octaves higher than the previous collisions, and shards of glass sprayed into the kitchen with each fragment emitting its own clink.

The siblings ducked under the tea table, moving the chairs aside and causing the legs to scrape loudly. They ducked beneath the table and tugged the seats back into place. With bated breath, they waited, turned towards the woods and poised to flee.

No one came. Minutes ticked by as Judy counted the seconds while her focus trained onto the silence of within the house. With the window open, all activity inside was amplified to her ears and she could smell the scents of stale bread, fresh vegetables, doused embers and the metallic wetness of clean pots wafting from the opening.

She determined the house safe to enter, and carefully pushed chair legs away to study the shattered pane.

The pane had broken circularly, and what remained was an uneven severed ring of glass along the frame.

The window sill was just below her waist, thus they couldn't step over it. After Jimmy hammered off a portion of the lowest remaining shards with his rock, he leveled a steady foot on sill. She could hear the particles of glass scrape and crush as her brother leaned into the house, and saw him wince. He finally launched himself inside, landing upon the larger shards littering the floor, and gestured for her to follow before turning away to nose for resources.

Pressing the empty scabbard on her belt to her person, she used the other hand to lift her skirt above her knees to step over the frame and up on the gap between what was left of the pane while simultaneously ducking her torso low. Jimmy had previously brushed away most of the glass dust, though she could still feel them rubbing against her bare feet. When she hopped into the kitchen, the pane nicked her calf, near where she was shot. But slivers had impaled her soles upon her landing, and she picked the greater pieces out. So when she took a glance at the scratch on her calf, what was left remained a drop of blood. She carefully dabbed it with her skirt to avoid detection, though smears of the liquid existed on the puddles of glass.

Passing the hearth and into the hallway bridging the dining table, she discovered the pantry where she uncovered dusty mason jars of preserved jam and pickled vegetables. She held as many as possible in her arms, before placing a couple back, for she wouldn't be able to run with them in tow.

Jimmy returned with a woven basket. They went back to fill it with the jars and closed the flap lid. As they were darting into the sanctuary of the woods, she caught a thick smoky scent from behind the house. She tugged her brother to a stop when they were knee-deep in foliage. The scent was musty, and she had previously dismissed it as the spoor of her hair and garments, or the kitchen hearth, but when the wind shifted course to the south, and with the amplification, she could detect cooked blood and salted meat weaved into the char, and it watered her dry mouth.

Judy closed her eyes as she inhaled, and felt Jimmy's curious look. "They have a smokehouse." she said.

Jimmy sighed with her, and the two concealed their basket in the underbrush further into the forest.

Heading back, they were so enraptured by the thoughts of fresh meat they raced fast through the open and Judy didn't think it necessary to take a more secure route.

There was a simple hook latch on the exterior of the smokehouse, vertical wood panels forming walls not an arm span across. A single maple loomed by the shelter, its leaves matted into the dry dirt and branches arching over the roof, tapping the shingles as the wind influenced it to its bidding.

They feasted on the cooked meat hanging by the rafters, the saltiness intensifying their thirst while their hunger overrode it. Judy tucked in an entire turkey breast and the legs attached, until the meat above her ceased their mockery.

With a boost from Jimmy, who had gained strength over the days past his sickness and could lift her above his waist for more than a few seconds, Judy unhooked a pork loin and belly, and hefted the loin on her shoulder.

They headed back to the woods, and by then darkness had settled and the moon had been screened by clouds darker than the sky itself; Jimmy stumbled on the maple's roots on his way out of the smokehouse.

Judy directed her brother back to the porch of the manor, as nothing but empty land stood between the smokehouse and the forest. A faint ringing had settled in her ears upon her exit, and as she stepped out of the maple's shadow, spared a glance to the main floor window of the Bellaire manor.

There was a pale lady in a breezy nightgown, her mouth open wide. Not in surprise, for the skin around her lips were strained so Judy could see her bottom row of teeth.

For a moment, Judy thought her a banshee or some type of ghost, and fear replaced panic. But she then she registered the wide, sharp eyes that glared in terror and the protruding bottom left incisor: Amelia.

She was screaming.

**I'm so sorry guys! I didn't mean to, I told myself I wouldn't get obsessed, but it happened anyway. I'm sorry I started seeing other fandoms, NJ. **

**Feel free to scold me for my hiatus.**

**Lizeyli, **Thank you so much for reviewing again! They always make look foward to posting a new chapter. :) I'm excited to show you the twists ahead!

**Nick, **Hello again! I'll never forget about this story because I have so many ideas for it now! During my hiatus, I kept thinking that I should write, but only faced a block and a blank; I couldn't think of anything! But I'm back on track now (let's hope school lets me write this year). :)

**If you're reading this, thanks for sticking with me!**


	10. Worn Tails

"Jimmy, we've been spotted!" Judy yelped, forgetting his request as the ringing morphed into the piercing wail of Amelia's voice. She wondered about the girl's lung captivity; how long could she continue screaming like that? "Run!"

Refusing to abandon the pork, the twins sprinted straight into the woods.

It wasn't long until her breath began to inch away and the salt took its toll as her throat closed in pain. Her thighs burned and she could feel the redness pressing at her from every end, offering peace and comfort while the animal took her away…

But Jimmy was panting beside her, slowing and forcing her to keep pace by relaxing as well. She resisted the animal by focusing on her brother and her refusal to abandon him.

But she could hear the baying of hounds and the shrieks of the ladies and the yells of the men and it was John's death all over again. But this time without the guidance of a one as strong as a pillar; a victor. She missed him too. She recalled all she had of him; the gruffness and aloof attitude which caused both she and her brother to seek him for strength, before the incident when he would generally ignore her presence, his quick improvisation in the wagon, even the wanted poster he shared with Jimmy.

And she realized… Maybe they were on this stupid goose chase for the mere purpose of a purpose. Perhaps Judy's purpose was an illusion to disguise the fact they were merely running away in cowardice.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to be a runaway anymore. Her brothers weren't what she'd thought them to be, their relationships not a tightly bound as she'd wanted. Was being with them really worth the constant paranoia? Could she still go back to a normal lifestyle if she wanted?

Despite this confliction, her mind still remained on the realization. Did she really just trick both herself and her brother without realizing? It was selfish too, to choose her comfort above Victor's safety...

She turned course, guiding Jimmy discreetly so he wouldn't waste breath attempting to question her.

They ran into a dank cloud that smelt of smoke so distinguishably she could sense it though her breaths were taken orally. It panicked and confused her, enough for a stop. Jimmy braked a few paces ahead. "Judy, what… What're you doing?" he wheezed.

There was no light of fire through the foliage and what she could see of the horizon through arches of branches held no stream of smoke. She inhaled through her nose as soon as she able.

"Do you… you smell something?" Jimmy looked as if he would put down his pork before deciding against it and glancing around warily. She wondered if he was able to hear the footfalls of boots in the distance. Perhaps the fumes were of their torches or lanterns.

"Smoke, but..." she mumbled. "Wet."

The only warning she received was the briefest trace of smog and the instinctive tightening of her stomach and shoulder muscles before the low _bamf _sounded over her shoulder. She caught a fleeting glimpse of her sibling's startled expression as she whirled around, only to be knocked breathless onto her shoulder blades by her chin. The strip of loin flopped over her face, its fatty slickness smothering her nose and mouth, so she only heard Jimmy's snarl and the second _bamf _that shoved her brother atop her.

When she could see again, Jimmy was sprawled over her, his boney claws and arms extended to avoid impalement. She pushed him off her person and they stood, turning so their backs faced each other and their rage of sight was the circle of trees around them.

Judy wielded her dagger, the blade scraping against its sheath with satisfying volume in the tense silence of the woods. Her senses strained, seeking the telltale signs of the smoke man. Her heart was beating so fast, each pump making her jolt and the redness consume a little more of her vision. She gripped the hilt as she struggled to keep it bay, her head flicking this way and that as the tunnel which was her sight narrowed and her peripheral vision disappeared into the burning hot.

The _bamf_ emitted right in front of her nose and the red closed in. The animal wanted her to use her nonexistent claws, but she refused to drop the dagger and so it was brandished. She felt a brief resistance to her swipe and knew it had struck, but the enemy replaced Jimmy behind her.

Something sharp pierced her side. Her knife dove, but only grazed the other weapon. As she was distracted, the whistle of motion and flash of blades appeared; she batted them away with her other arm. The pain which followed ceased all thought.

The animal had her now, and had her muscles tense and jumping at every movement. The blade was abandoned as her lips strained in a snarl and her fingertips curled so her nails were what met flesh for the briefest of seconds before it disappeared. She grew more frustrated than frightened when no fatal purchase was ever made, felt as if the opponent was teasing her.

Her violent jumps and snaps of her jaws grew heavier in exhaustion until they slowed ever-so-slightly. Her opponent must have realized this as well, for he once again knocked her down, this time on her stomach, and didn't let her rise with his foot on her back.

She thrashed and attempted to twist her torso as to bite off that cursed leg that pinned her down, but to no avail. The foot refused to budge, but other than that he wasn't touching her. Her animal relaxed when it registered no threat nor pain; the red dissipated and Judy was left panting in its absence, feeling oddly cold and vulnerable without it within reach.

Finally, she turned, slowly and with lips closed so he knew she wasn't preparing to attack. Her elbows and forearms folded under her shoulders as she shifted and met a spade with a tip as sharp as a needle, a hair's breadth from her fragile eye. She gasped and jerked away, but the smoke man wouldn't allow it, instead inching his weapon away, much to her relief.

Judy watched the spade, and it bobbed in the air like an animated object, and there was no hand attached to it. Her gaze followed up the chord that joined it to the body of... And there was the devil himself. The classic pitchfork was replaced by twin curved blades twice as long as hers, serrated and ending as sharply as his tail. They weren't currently threatening, as the pommels were up and with bent wrists, the flats of the blades were able to press harmlessly against the insides of his forearms.

Light eyes studied her with amused curiosity, and what should have been horns were pointed ears that stuck out before slick hair. When his eyes connected with hers, she cringed in fear and turned her head back to the ground, anticipating the damnation worse than death that was sure to hit any second. She tried to recall everyone important figure in her life, from Victor to John to her silly dead aunt.

A low chuckle emitted above her and she flinched as the _bamf _relieved her of the weight between her shoulders. She sobbed once with relief, and a rustle twenty meters away gave sight of a burly figure retreating into the shadows and a traumatized Jimmy.

"There!"

Judy sat up after retrieving her blade and turned to the voices, remembering the second threat and immediately clambering to her feet. The light of blazing torches illuminated men with muskets and rifles as the sharp tips of their pitchforks glinted with the flames.

Scrambling over the distance for her brother, she caught his elbow with sticky fingers and tugged until he stood up in annoyance. She glanced over her shoulder where the mob was growing steadily closer, and then Jimmy was pulling her forward.

Without the slabs of meat weighing them down, they were able to run at a proficient pace and the distance between them and the human mob inched longer. The blast of a firearm startled Judy and she instinctively put her hands over her head as she ducked; a wise action when the bark of the trunk in front of her exploded in splinters. However, she had to bend her knees in order to do so and was forced to slow her pace. She wondered if the man who had fired was lucky or had exceptional aim. If they all were as proficient.

She could hear their footsteps and angry shouts, followed by the crack of a firearm. She wished to turn and yell she didn't do anything why were they after her and her brother what crimes had they committed to deserve this?

Jimmy nearly tripped beside her and she knew he was just a scared and confused as she was. When he stumbled the second time, he was unable to catch his momentum and landed on his hands. It was like watching someone else's nightmare, so she crouched to help him up. _Hurry, hurry._

The mob trampled the final layer of foliage dividing them from their victims before the twins had regained their footing, and were soon surrounded by the muzzles of weaponry and the triple spines of pitchforks. Perhaps the humans were the real devils; she certainly thought their snarling smirks were just as terrifying as the smoke man.

Acknowledging the hopelessness of their position, Judy slowly raised her hands in surrender, tears she had not registered tickling her cheeks.

Before her fingers had passed her shoulders, a tall man in a knee-length morning coat slipped through the wall of nearly twenty other men with enough authority to keep them from threatening him as well. He stood directly before the twins protectively so many of the weaponry points shifted to his chest.

"My name Hilarion Smith." he said loudly, and the mob silenced, glaring. The only response was the crackling of their torches. "I know these children are wanted, but they are a bigger threat than you realize."

Confusion rippled throughout the faces of the throng, including Jimmy and Judy.

"For _we _are the bigger threat. _We _are the children of the atom. We are to be feared by the lesser race, not enslaved." he spat the latter like a curse. Judy couldn't see his expression as his back was to her, but she knew by his stance he was a dominant leader and would survive the humans' attack, though he had no weapons. Perhaps, she thought with hope, he was like them and could defend himself with his teeth and claws.

A scoff and a _crack! _emitted from the side, abrupt so more rifles also fired in a symphony that sounded closer to screaming than gunshots. Judy turned away, her arm over her eyes so she could avoid the sight of a bloodbath that was sure to follow.

Rather than the thud of a fallen body, the familiar _bamf _had Judy curling into herself and squeezing her eyes shut tighter as the smoke man made his entrance to her right. When he didn't immediately knock her down again, she dared a glance just as a strong back wind whipped her hair away and blurred her eyes.

The mob had fallen, bodies sprawled in a loose circle around them, most pitchforks thrown from their hands, but many still clutched their rifles. Their clothing and faces were pink and charred... She saw the animal carcasses and averted her gaze instead to two—no, three—men before her.

The smoke man. Hilarion Smith. And… Thomas Logan.

She gaped at all of them, trying to keep her eyes on the smoke man's tail and swords, as well as Thomas Logan's claws and grimacing mouth and Hilarion Smith's hands—still empty—all at once. However, they seemed to be waiting for the twins to make the first move, calmly appraising the Howletts despite the corpses littering the ground—how were they all killed so quickly?

Finally losing patience, Hilarion Smith took a nonthreatening stride closer until the twins backed up. He was tall and imposing yet had soft, amiable features that reminded Judy of John. He crouched so he was no longer towering over them, suddenly seeming the least dangerous of the three. A glance to the smoke man and Thomas Logan told Judy they were hovering over Hilarion's form like guards, though the smoke man's expression was light and still watched her in amusement.

"I'm sorry you had to witness such a scene." Hilarion said softly. His breath smelt of the expensive southern tobacco and she could sense the same musty odor on his blazer that her dresses carried, expect his was concealed under the tang of mint leaves; he smelt normal, sans the underlying acrid scent of power that rippled beneath his skin; in his blood. It was the same scent that Victor, her brother and Thomas carried, though much more potent. She'd assumed it carried by relation, so perhaps this man was family?

"Don't be afraid; we're not going to hurt you." he spoke to them as if they were children or wounded animals, speech that would have annoyed Judy if the situation were any different; to her ears, it was comforting, making her heartbeat slow slightly. It made it feel like a child, before her father was murdered, in bliss of innocence. It was safe.

"But you _did _hurt us." Jimmy burst accusingly. He glowered at Thomas; Thomas scowled back. "You attacked us, you attacked _them._" He indicated the bodies. "Why?"

"Ah, the first assault was... _unauthorized._" Hilarion paused to turn sternly at the twin's biological father, who merely lifted his shoulders in indifference. "But we were merely testing you before; we wanted to know if you're one of us. And we need to protect one another.

"We are the children of the atom. Brothers, sisters. The next stage of evolution in the human race." He smiled kindly and offered an open palm. "There aren't many of us, but we'll grow powerful if stay together. I can help you hone your abilities, and you'll never have to run or steal again."

Perhaps it was Victor's absence that had her craving an authoritative figure to relieve her of the weight of roaming from her shoulders, or that his words were so similar to her half-brother's that she knew she would join this man. She was sick of running, it wasn't an adventure or a thrill; it was death and pain at your back, it was cowardly and egotistic (and she didn't believe any hardening of her personality would take away that resolve).

Also, she didn't want to find out what the smoke man would do to her should they refuse.

Judy outstretched her own hand, but Jimmy caught it and put by her side. She frowned at him, but decided not to kick her brother in front of this man. She yanked out of his grasp, but stilled to hear what he had to argue.

Jimmy gestured toward their sire. "He's going to attack us again, I know it." he growled, and Judy sensed the worry in his tone. Thomas smirked.

"No, he isn't." Hilarion swiveled on the balls of his leather boots to tip his head at Thomas forcefully. "You'll be safe in his presence as long as I have a say in it." He stared at Thomas until the other man looked away. "And I always will."

Noting Thomas's submissiveness, Jimmy relaxed slightly with a faint huff though his nose. Judy placed her hand in Hilarion's and he stood.

"We need to find our other brother." Judy spoke for the first time as her hand slipped from his. "He's like us." She heard an actual rumbling growl from Thomas, but didn't react.

"Victor, is it?" He paused for their affirmation. "We've been working to track him down, but there doesn't seem to be any trace of him."

"When we were turned in by the Campbells—" Jimmy started, but his sister had just remembered her earlier realization and interrupted; she doubted the humans would have allowed Victor to be put to labor in a place as nice as a factory.

"He's also wanted. Victor must have been taken in by the humans." It was the first time she had referred to herself as something other aloud and it felt queer on her tongue.

Hilarion's expression hardened at the mention of a brother captured by the lesser race. "Then we'll have to pay justice where justice is due, won't we?" He mused pleasantly.

**Was this chapter too fast in pace? It feels a little rushed, though maybe it was because I was just skimming through while editing? **

**Nick, **Thank you for the compliments and soothing of my insecurities. I wish you a great autumn season; thanks for the lovely review!


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